


Threats and Treason

by lun27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blackmail, F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lun27/pseuds/lun27
Summary: Politics is a game that Draco has mastered since the end of the war. Power and control come naturally to him, so when his power is threatened, he'll do everything to secure his place at the top of the foodchain, and for that Hermione has just become a pawn in his hands. Or is it the other way round?





	1. Abduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my friends :) This is my new story!
> 
> This is a post war AU, some things are changed, some things remain the same. It takes place a few years after the final battle.
> 
> o.O.o
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> This story deals with serious topics such as trauma, minor violence, sex (hihi) and stuff
> 
> Initially, I wanted to wait before I upload this until it's completely done, but I have some time on my hands today, so I'll put up the chapters that are already on FFN. I'll try to keep up with updates, but I might just dump a whole bunch at once every few months whenever I have some time to spare :D
> 
> Let me know what you prefer though :)

The way the rain fell in irregular patterns between the bushes of the park should have tipped Draco off that something wasn't right, that someone had done a bad job of concealing themselves without taking the change of weather into account. But Draco didn't notice until it was too late.

Maybe it had been the overpriced champagne Draco had drunk at the gathering or just the intoxicating feeling of his running success that constantly kept adrenaline and endorphins pumping through his veins, urging him to go farther, to achieve more. He had grown careless, besotted with his accomplishments and on the high of constant advancement towards a greater goal that even he himself hadn't quite determined yet. All he had ever known was to strive for greater highs.

That moment, when he felt a presence behind him, Draco knew that time had come to atone for all of his sins, that his road of success had been painted in gold for too long and that now bitumen would weigh down each and every step until he succumbed.

Unable to react in time, he was pulled into the darkness of the park. As he still fumbled for his wand, the tug of apparition forcefully took him away together with the stranger that had chosen that day to make Draco pay.

Only moments before, he had been in the luxuriously decorated ballroom celebrating with wizarding high society. Something akin to annoyance flashed through him as he realised that those would likely be the last faces he'd see before his life ended.

-o-

"To winning the war!" Minister Bletchley said, toasting the elegantly robed witches and wizards gathered around a decadent buffet. It had more different kinds of seafood than a person could taste in their lifetime, ranging from roasted char under chestnut crust on a fennel-mandarin salad to wild shrimp and lamb carpaccio with chorizo and artichoke cream.

Draco wrinkled his nose. He hated fish. But it was expensive and some of these fish were incredibly rare. Just what wealthy people like him should eat.

"To winning the war," the people around him cheered. Draco caught the gaze of Theodore Nott as he raised his glass alongside the other members of their elite circle. He still remembered his old school mate sitting among the broken ruins of Hogwarts, trembling in fear as Aurors started to drag Death Eaters and Slytherins alike from the battlefield.

They hadn't won any war, but who cared about the details of history? They all pretended like they had been on the winning side and like they had been the ones striking down the Dark Lord. Deep down, though, everyone around him knew that they were celebrating the victory of a whole different war. They had won the political war in the fallout of the Dark Lord's demise. They had come out on top, and so they raised their gold rimmed glasses of the finest champagne on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, where the real savior of the world had beaten the greatest and most evil wizard of their time in front of their very eyes.

History was written by winners, but war only brought loss. After the Dark Lord had fallen, that had been prevalent, and it had undoubtedly shattered what remained of the Order of the Phoenix and Potter's army of school children. Evil festered among the ruins of a civilisation like infection in an open wound, and so the archaic structures that had once spawned the most fatal war of younger wizarding history had risen again to rule over them all.

Someone took Draco aside, nearly causing him to spill his drink. A drop of that was probably worth more than a new racing broom, so Draco was rather pissed when the man hissed into his ear, "Draco, we should talk about how we manage the wireless spreading Skeeter's propaganda."

"You mean the late night talk attacking your company's benefits programme? Why should I care, Theo?" Draco asked, pretending to be fascinated by the art nouveau style handrails of the stairwell leading to the gallery of the ceremonial hall they were celebrating in. "It's shit and you know it. Half the money goes into your own pockets together with the tax breaks you gain from pretending to support your workers' health care programs. They are just telling the truth."

Nott grunted. "You are in charge of the Anti-Prejudice law. We supported your vote in the House of Heirs so it's time you pay us back for that."

Draco barked a dry laugh. "I don't owe you anything."

"Well, how about a deal then?"

"I'm listening," Draco relented, feigning boredom. Nott might be a master at playing poker, but when it came to playing the nuances of bargain, he was everything but subtle. He didn't understand the fine tuning of politics and power. However, the man had money and was adept at multiplying it, be it legally or through countless semi-legal and illegal schemes.

"I'll leave the health sector to you for now. I'll redraw my proposition for Bell's Meds Lab, and you get to make your big money there."

"For now?" Draco raised a brow. "I don't think so. You are an adult, you should be able to solve your problems with the press on your own." He turned to the buffet, trying to snatch a cloudberry from the plate with zander fillets that hadn't touched the fish yet.

"Two years!"

"Merlin, you really are desperate, are you?" Draco said, nibbling at the bitter-sweet fruit. "Oh, I forgot, the unions threatened you with strikes, right? I guess you have every reason to be desperate…" he trailed off, letting his words take effect. He knew all about what was going on in the unions. Information was power, so he made sure to pay his sources good money. He carefully picked the most desperate people so they would depend on it too.

Nobody beat him at this game. He had learned from the best—he had learned from Lucius Malfoy.

"Four… no, five years. I'll give you the supply chain too."

He sighed. "Since you've asked so nicely, I'll see what I can do."

"It's appreciated, Draco," Nott replied, obviously relieved. He seriously should practice his poker face outside the gambling hall. It was one of the reasons the press had found such an easy target in him. The right journalists knew how to read interviews and find hidden truths in a face as open as that.

Skeeter had mastered that skill and continued to push the boundaries. In a journalistic culture where the Ministry was censoring even the smallest of critical voices, gossip papers blossomed. Skeeter however had scented more fame and attention outside her previous niche that was quickly swarmed with off-the-rack tittle-tattle. She knew that success was only possible in dissociation from the mainstream, so she had delved into the underground and had started publishing uncomfortable truths about their current administration and pureblood society.

Draco had only recently gotten his hands on valuable information on her sources and connections, and a name was high on his bounty list right now. The man spreading Skeeter's agenda on the wireless had been her apprentice—a man who had dared to speak up in this hostile political climate. Once Draco would be through with him, he would regret even picking up a quill and especially rue his role as a guest star in said late-night talk show.

Nott didn't know that he had already planned filing an arrest, but this way Draco could kill two birds with one stone. Corporate money in the health insurance sector meant smaller margins for his NGO after all as they couldn't raise the prices at will. Companies had a lot of room for bargaining while private citizens were simply dependent on their services, no matter what price.

"Making your schemes again, Draco?"

"You know me, Blaise."

"I do." Zabini grinned in a way that was everything but friendly. "Enjoying the buffet? I had it ordered just how you like it."

"It's delightsome," Draco answered dispassionately.

Zabini was an arsehole, but he was his friend as well. That was if one could call the relationship built on discussing politics and women during their monthly poker night friendship. Zabini got to humiliate Draco from time to time when he lost another thousand Galleons over a full house, and Draco gained some insights into the Department of Transportation and Logistics. It was important to know of new tariffs and taxes first hand so he could petition against anything that could become problematic in terms of business.

His position as Undersecretary came with political power after all, and with some bargaining, he knew how to position enough votes on his side if needed. The old families' allegiances stretched far, and his father had already secured a great number of them during his time in the House of Heirs. When Draco had taken over as the rightful descendant of the Malfoy line, he had made sure his name still held enough families' loyalty. He didn't care much for poker, but he entertained Zabini every now and then if only to keep a close relationship to some of the most important families. Letting Zabini mock his card game skills was an acceptable price to pay. Draco's game was politics and losing was part of it, as was pretending to enjoy fish even though Zabini knew that he would rather fling himself off Potter's statue in the Ministry than eat it.

Draco glanced at his watch, contemplating at what time he could leave without appearing rude. He was tired from working on a counter offer to Nott's bidding on Bell's Meds Lab for days. It was the last non-corporate owned apothecary in the city and quite popular due to Katie Bell being well-liked and trusted. To Draco's chagrin, Nott had more money at his dispense to make a profitable offer so having him withdraw it already counted as enough political gain for a night.

But his father had ingrained into him to never miss an opportunity for playing power, and so Draco stayed, engaging in small talk and bargaining. Everyone stayed until the last attendee had been greeted and the final toast had been spoken. No one dared to be the first to remove themselves from the circle of political mingling to enjoy a quiet evening at home instead. They were all part of this giant clockwork of their own making, always trying to turn their gears the right way to get closer to the centre of power.

-o-

When Draco finally allowed himself to leave, a fine drizzle had set in, covering everything in a layer of tiny droplets and irritating his eyes. He cast a rain repellent charm on himself and made his way out of the warded area. Rich people didn't like intruders even if it meant some inconveniences for them. The closest point to apparate from was across the street where a park stretched down to a small pond. It was pitch-black between the trees, causing Draco to feel an uncomfortable tingle along his back as he approached the cleared area beyond the wards.

He had just reached the border when he suddenly felt himself being pulled into the dark between the bushes of the park. Draco fumbled for his wand, but he realised that he was far too slow as a familiar tug pulled him away from the street and spat him out in a narrow stairwell.

Stumbling, he regained his footing just in time to be janked forward and up the first flight of stairs by the collar.

"You arrogant Malfoy spawn will be humble and make amends now," his captor grunted, dragging him along with enormous strength. Draco lunged at him, but the man caught his wrist and twisted his arm so far behind his back that he heard his joints popping. Draco barely kept from shouting in pain, bowing to prevent his shoulder from disjointing. He hit his shins on the stairs and fell to his knees. Pain flared in his legs and a dull ache spreading hin his shoulder, where his arm was twisted into an unnatural position.

Draco struggled against the iron hold, but he was forcefully pushed further downwards until he was unable to move without white pain shooting through his shoulder.

This is it, Draco thought. This was how he was going to meet his end. It was nearly a relief; at least he wasn't stabbed in the back by his own so-called friends.

He was pulled up again, and he finally caught a glance at his captor. The man was large but slender, dark hair framing his pale features and even paler eyes that reminded him painfully of his deceased lunatic aunt.

The man pushed him through a door and to the ground. A wand pressed into his neck. "You stay on your knees or you'll regret ever being born." Ropes emerged from the ground and coiled around his arms and legs, tethering him to the cracked floorboards, unyielding to his struggles.

A door opened somewhere to his right, and Draco heard a gasp. "What is this?"

He raised his head, locking eyes with none other than Hermione-fucking-Granger.

"Sirius!" she cried, "What did you do?" She pulled her wand from her pocket.

"Stay the bloody hell away from me, Mudblood!" Draco roared. Fury claimed him. How dare she do this to him? He was kneeling at her feet like a disobedient house-elf. How dare she humiliate him like this?

The man that had dragged him into this sodden place kicked him in the ribs and Draco groaned, certain that he had heard a small crack. A hand fisted in his hair, and his head was pulled back until he came face to face with Sirius Black. "You will not call her that! You will not insult her, you hear me?" His eyes were crazy, his breath smelling of Firewhisky. Draco wanted to turn his face away, but Black held onto his hair, pulling back until it felt like he was tearing it off his scalp.

"You'll apologize for what you did, Malfoy. You will apologise for how you treated her all those years."

"Merlin, Sirius, let him go!" Granger cried, yanking Black's arm.

"You'll die for this, Black" Draco growled. "And Granger will be there with you."

Suddenly, the man collapsed, nearly falling on top of Draco.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Granger whimpered, pushing Black's slack body aside and aiming her wand at the ropes still coiling around Draco's limbs. His hands were already white when they finally loosened and blood could rush back into his tingling fingers. "Are you okay, did he do anything? Please, I'm so sorry, Malfoy."

He pushed her away when she reached for him as if to check for wounds. "Don't. Fucking. Touch me."

"Of course, I'm sorry." She nearly bowed when she pulled back, still on her knees in front of him. Her demeanor was pathetic.

She looked different than he remembered her. Her hair was braided tightly, her face was nearly as pale as Black's, tiny freckles standing in stark contrast on her cheeks.

Draco pushed up from the ground, finally able to reach for his wand and pointed it at her. "What is this? Did you plan this abduction?" He was eerily calm, having finally regained the upper hand.

"No, please, it's not what this looks like. He's out of his senses. I should have been here to take care of him, he's off at this time of the year because Harry… because of what happened. It's no excuse, please forgive us, Malfoy."

Draco looked down at her still kneeling on the ground before him. Black lay by her side, his face slack. She had stunned the man, Draco realised.

"You'll go to prison for this," he said. It was simply an assessment, no threat, no intent swinging in his words. Her face turned even whiter.


	2. Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> "You'll go to prison for this," he said. It was simply an assessment, no threat, no intent swinging in his words. Her face turned even whiter.

"Please, Malfoy. I beg you, don't do this. Don't…" she choked on tears, and Draco sneered in disgust. Pathetic.

"Why shouldn't I report this?" He asked, an evil grin playing around his lips. Having the Mudblood begging to him was sending a rush of power through his veins. The thrill of exerting revenge gripped his heart. He wanted to see how far she was willing to go, how broken she could be. It wasn't easy to not let it show on his face how much he relished in that feeling, how hungry it made him to see to her humiliation.

Draco's gaze left her panicked one and he took in the candle-lit room. "This is where you live?" The interior was old, nearly empty, save for a table with two mismatched chairs. It didn't look like a place someone actually lived in. Draco had never seen a room this empty before; it was haunting. There literally was nothing personal. If it weren't so run down and old, it could have been a hotel room too cheap to even have an ugly painting as decoration. Everything was ridiculously clean, but so worn that it barely would have made a difference if the broken floorboards were polished or dusty. "Merlin, this place is worse than the Shrieking Shack."

"It's all we can afford," Granger said quietly. He looked back to her. Everything about her was more quiet than what he remembered, subdued and downcast. This was no longer the Hermione Granger that had bested him in school and fought in the war against the Dark Lord. Something had broken her, and it made Draco feel uneasy despite the satisfaction it gave him to see her like this.

"Please don't report us, Malfoy. Sirius can't go back to Azkaban, not again. It's not his fault. He broke when they locked him up the second time. He's not himself any longer. I should have been here, I should have taken care of him. I'm sorry, it's all my fault…"

"Bloody hell, shut up, will you?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. Draco was growing tired of her constant apologising. It was like a misspelled howler repeating the same words again and again, never knowing when the end of the message had been reached.

He dusted off his expensive robes, irritated when he discovered a tear at the knee.

"Can I offer you some tea?" she asked. Granger must have realised that he would go straight to the Ministry now and file a report that would have both Black and her in big trouble. She didn't wait for an answer and started bustling around the kitchenette instead, summoning mugs from the cupboard while simultaneously heating water in a kettle on the stove. "I don't have anything special, but there is always fresh mint leaves. They are really good."

Draco wanted to interrupt her, tell her to shove her mint leaves up Black's arse, but she turned back to him, gesturing to the chairs with a trembling hand. "Take a seat, tea will be ready in a minute." Her voice was strained as if breathing was difficult. Draco didn't care about the bloody mint tea, but her vulnerable eyes had him sitting down. Something in them stirred a perverse fascination within him. Draco watched her pour the boiling water on the leaves. The scent filled the air, and as he wet his lips, he realised that his mouth was dry from the champagne.

Black still lay by the door where Granger had stunned him. To an outsider the whole scene would look ridiculous, Draco thought as she placed a cup with a scary looking cat that was grinning from ear to ear on it in front of him. Granger was nursing her own cup with pink flowers on it. They were both equally ugly, but Draco was glad she hadn't given the pink one to him.

What was he still doing in her flat? He didn't know.

Granger nervously blew at her cup of mint tea, leaning back against the counter as if she didn't dare to sit at the same table as him. He realised that he hadn't seen her in several years. She had been there when the Dark Lord had fallen of course and when the dead had been buried and even when the Ministry had been rebuilt. She had been one of the few with broken families and dead friends that had found the strength to try and rebuild the world into a better one. But after his name had been cleared and when he had entered politics, she hadn't been there any longer.

Draco knew that someone had managed to convince her to stop her fruitless attempts to make the world better—how was beyond him, however. Granger had never been someone to give up on her morals easily.

"You won't report us, will you?" she asked, her eyes flickering to him and back to her cup.

He contemplated her, stretching his leg and leaning back in the chair. She was avoiding looking at him for longer than a few seconds, uncomfortable in her own home. This was fun, what would he have given to have this power over her at school?

"Why should I spare a criminal?" he asked, sipping at his scalding hot tea.

"He's not—it's not his fault," she said, looking miserable.

Draco leaned forward. "It's my fault then that I get abducted and abused by a loony ex-convict?"

"No! Of course not, it's—"

"Spare me," He said, finally deciding to leave this sad place. She was giving him a headache and his knees still ached from being pushed to the ground. Getting up, he declared, "I'll go straight to the Ministry tomorrow morning so I'd advise you say goodbye to that dosser till then."

"Please don't, they'll put him back in Azkaban!"

"Good, that's where he belongs." Draco frowned, irritated. She seemed close to tears as she looked over at the still form of Black.

She didn't try to call him back when he left. The last thing he heard from her was a faint sniffle.

-o-

Early the next morning, Draco took a potion to alleviate his migraine. He hadn't drunk a lot of alcohol at the event, but what had transpired after had worn him out. Barely able to look straight, he tossed down the bitter potion, grateful that it was the best quality. It was quite unlike what he sold to his customers abroad.

He'd still have to get his proposal to Katie Bell that day, so he made his way to his office as soon as his sight stopped swimming with every step and the nausea had receded. The witch had been a thorn in his side with her perfect and cheap potions. The other board members of his NGO had opted to ignore her, lazy pack that didn't want to bother with market details. Draco knew how important image was though and Katie Bell had a good image. Even though she only sold in one shop, she took a serious margin of the market in London, and he simply couldn't let that slip. So he had partitioned for higher taxes on potions ingredients and required special training for potioneers which made hiring a whole lot more difficult.

Of course, none of the other board members had been particularly fond of his decisions, but as his family owned most of the shares anyways, they didn't have much of a choice.

He took the contract he had worked on to his solicitor to look it over and sign in place of his father who still officially held the shares, but was in no state to sign anything anymore. It was a painful reminder of his father living beyond his reach, but not really being alive at the same time. Frustration squeezed his lungs every time Draco had to get the approval of his solicitor for something he should be able to decide on his own. A little clause in the will of his father prohibited him or anybody else from doing business with his shares or wealth. That had essentially kept the Ministry from claiming it all as war reparations as the testament was magically binding, but it now forced Draco to run all his decisions by his solicitor to judge whether his father would have approved. It was ridiculous and humiliating. At least he trusted the man who had been nothing but professional in their business relationship.

With the contract signed, Draco then made his way to Bell's personally.

She had held her own for some time in the hostile market he had created, but in the end she didn't have the liquid funds his company had to keep her shop afloat for long without being forced to raise prices and losing a vital amount of customers. That was where Draco had entered the game, and to his chagrin, Nott had sniffed a chance at earning even more money in the branch that had been his exclusively before. Draco hadn't even needed to pay anyone to damage his reputation this time, though. It had all worked out itself just splendidly. Now he was the main buyer for Bell's Meds Lab and basically already owned it.

Katie Bell was all business. "Malfoy," she said, greeting him with a firm handshake.

Draco hadn't expected the former Gryffindor to be this professional, especially regarding their backstory. She was dressed in robes for the occasion, her hair tied back into a strict-looking ponytail. She was rather pretty, he thought.

It reminded him of Granger in the regard that she was now the complete opposite of Bell. Where the latter was a rather successful owner of a business, the former had failed in every aspect of her life. That certainly wasn't the outcome he had expected for Granger.

"Thank you for considering investing in my shop," Bell said as she led him through the saleroom. Draco let his eyes sweep over the interior, which consisted of dark oak shelves filled with neatly arranged bottles, flagons and little tins. The shop had a comforting professionalism about it; everything was clean and tidy, so unlike many other wizarding shops.

"Let's go into my office to talk over the details." They went past the counter up a narrow set of stairs.

"Don't you need to take care of your shop?" Draco asked, glancing back over his shoulder as the doorbell rang, announcing a customer.

"I have an assistant helping out. She's in the back and will take care of everything for me. The business runs smoothly. You will not regret investing."

Draco didn't doubt that. The value of Bell's Meds Lab was professionally appraised at far above the sales price. The only reason they were here that day was because he had proposed the legislations to ruin her just enough to decrease the value of her assets so she would have to put the business up for sale.

The negotiations went smoothly. After initial hesitation on Bell's part, Draco offered her 10% of interests over a four year period as part of her salary which would be calculated proportionately to the sales. He had already planned on doing that anyhow to keep the image of the shop as a family owned one. It was an important factor for many of the customers and increased sales by far more than it would hurt him to offer her a share.

"I'll have to run this by my solicitor before making any final decisions," Bell said after going through the details of the contract with him.

Draco nodded with a polite smile. "Of course. I support well thought-through decisions." He was glad she was not a rash decision-maker. She would still be running the shop after all, and he appreciated diligent staff. "I'd like to remind you that the contents of the contract are confidential. Relaying them to anyone but your solicitor will trigger a lawsuit. Market neutrality is of utmost importance for the Ministry."

Bell nodded. "I'll show you out."

Following her back downstairs, Draco contemplated for a second if it was worth it offering her 12% if she agreed to go out with him, but he decided against it as it would only cause problems long-term.

"It was nice doing business with you," he said and shook her hand again.

"Malfoy?"

He turned, surprised to find Granger standing behind the counter. "Granger," he said, his tone turning cold. Her presence reminded him of the uncomfortable way his previous night had ended.

"I didn't know potioneers earned so little nowadays." He eyed her simple attire critically. It looked too thin to keep her warm in the tentative spring weather.

"Oh, I'm just doing deliveries and selling," she said a little too quickly. "I never got to finish my N.E.W.T.s after the war, so I'm not allowed to brew myself. But I do know everything about the products we sell."

"Hermione, you okay here?" Bell asked, her watchful eyes on him. "I have to sort some more stuff upstairs."

Fuck off, harpy, he wanted to tell her. He didn't intend to do anything to her precious golden girl, and he didn't like the look she gave him at all. All previous desire to ask her on a date was suddenly gone.

"Yeah, thank you Katie. I just want a word with Malfoy."

"Sure," the woman said, unconvinced, but she seemed to trust Granger as she left upstairs.

Granger lowered her tone as soon as Bell had closed the door to her office, "Please tell me you haven't been to the Ministry yet." She was wringing her hands. "I—I don't know how to make this up to you. Sirius was wrong to do that, and he is well aware of it. He'll apologise if that's what you want. Please don't report him. I just got him out of Azkaban a few years ago, and he is finally starting to get better."

Draco scoffed. "He's a drunk and violent as well. That's what you call getting better?"

"I know, I'm working on getting him off the booze. It just takes time. The mint helps when mixed with opium poppy. It's a rather simple potion, I only need to take care that he doesn't get addicted or overdosed." She rambled as if she could convince him if she only said enough words in the little time he'd grant her.

"Is this how you get fresh mint?" He gestured around him. "You steal it from your employer?"

"Wha—n-no. We—I…" She fumbled for words. "It's just what we have to throw a-away at the end of the day."

"So you steal other stuff too? Do you sell bad quality goods for lower prices on the black market as well?"

She frantically shook her head. "No, I have never... it's not like that. I'm not stealing it."

"But have you paid for it?" he stressed, stepping closer.

"N-no."

"So basically you are stealing it."

"I—please, no. I don't… please don't tell anyone. I won't do it again. It's just to help Sirius sleep when the nightmares are getting bad."

He regarded her for a long time. "You are not only stealing potion ingredients, you are also illegally brewing with them."

She clamped her mouth shut, her lips a thin line, her eyes wide open like a deer in the light of a Lumos. When he raised an eyebrow, expectant of another one of her bad excuses, none came.

He took her chin and turned her face up to him, intentionally making her uncomfortable with his touch. "You know, if someone wanted to harm you, there's plenty of material for blackmail. I advise you keep your record clear if you want to keep your job and Black out of prison."

She stared up at him, and for a moment he got lost in her forlorn eyes. Shaking his head, he stepped back. "If you or that filthy swine bother me again, you'll regret it, Granger."

Without looking back, he left the shop and made his way to the Ministry. He had some papers to file and promises to keep. Someone would be arrested today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that isn't a cliffhanger, what is? Haha. Leave a comment with your thoughts!


	3. Arrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> She stared up at him, and for a moment he got lost in her forlorn eyes. Shaking his head, he stepped back. "If you or that filthy swine bother me again, you'll regret it, Granger."
> 
> Without looking back, he left the shop and made his way to the Ministry. He had some papers to file and promises to keep. Someone would be arrested today.

Besides leading the Malfoy business, of course Draco had a proper job as well. It just wouldn't do for his image to live off private means alone. It wasn't good publicity and evoked jealousy in people's minds. That's why he had worked his way up to the position of the Undersecretary, 'paying back the community' as the Daily Prophet liked to frame it.

The salary was embarrassingly insignificant, so he made a show of donating all of it to fund education grants for aspiring potioneers. Of course, it was more of a student loan than a real stipend, but he guaranteed them a job at his apothecaries where they could work off the loan in a stable work environment. This way, he not only got his money back, but also assured that the most gifted potioneers entering the job market would work for him exclusively.

On top of that, his job at the Ministry brought him a certain sense of joy. He didn't care much for paperwork, but he liked pulling the strings to get information no one else could acquire. And he liked the power that came with commanding the Auror's office whenever he wanted. His current work revolved in the inquiry of minor offences regarding the Anti-Prejudice Act that had been put in place after the war.

"I need to report an offence. Get me the papers," Draco instructed his secretary the moment he entered through the door of his first-floor office. The boy scurried off immediately. Draco couldn't even remember his name. They never stayed for long.

He quickly prepared the report and then put it in an envelope together with a short note.

Theo,

Sign this, and I will arrest the man who spread this uncomfortable rumour about you and your company before the day is out.

-D.

"I will go and make an arrest," he called out to his secretary who had buried himself behind paperwork. He wouldn't wait for Nott to return the papers to him, it was mere bureaucracy.

"O-okay, Mr Malfoy." The boy looked at him with big, inane eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Do you think I'll just go on my own? Get me some Aurors!" The gormless twit couldn't think for himself if his life depended on it.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, of course, at once!" And off he went, hopefully to retrieve someone actually useful. The Auror's office had a serious lack of competent wizards. Most of them were thugs nowadays, but Draco didn't mind them so much as long as they could follow orders. They always painfully reminded him of Vincent and Greg though; it felt wrong commanding the Aurors around like he used to with his friends in school. They had been the only people that wouldn't have stabbed him in the back if it benefited them. Maybe even now, they could have been his friends more so than any other.

-o-

Draco was flanked by three rather bulky Aurors when he entered the cramped building of the Daily Prophet.

"I am looking for Finnigan," he told the desk clerk, a tall, dark skinned man with an incredibly long neck.

"Seamus? What do you have to do with Seamus?"

"Nothing. This is an investigation." Draco wanted to roll his eyes at the panicked look that flitted across the man's face.

"Invest... He's not in his office today."

"Oh, I don't mind. I can wait," Draco replied, inspecting his nails. "I'm sure there is no problem with having my men check the office for anything that could be relevant to our investigation?"

"I'll just—I'll look just to make sure he hasn't come in during lunch. I might have missed him."

"That would be very obliging."

"P-please take a seat." The man signaled towards a couple of chairs that looked fashionable yet anything but comfortable. "I'll be back in a sec."

"Oh, we'll just tag along, no problem," Draco insisted. He wasn't stupid and wouldn't leave Finnigan an opening to slip through his fingers.

"Of course, of course. This way, gentlemen."

They followed him along a narrow hall to the last office where the man knocked first and then poked his head through the crack of the door.

"Seamus, here is Mal—Mr Malfoy for you."

"Malfoy?"

Draco moved to push through the door, irritated by the stalling tactics.

"A complaint has been filed, Mr Finnigan. You are accused of discrimination against a pureblood and therefore provisionally under arrest."

Seamus Finnigan jumped from his seat in the paper-laden office. "I didn't do a thing. What exactly is it I am accused of?" His voice was terse, his eyes nervous.

"We have reliable evidence that you anonymously and maliciously accused a pureblood of crimes in a radio show. That is not only an offence in the form of defamation, but falls also under the Prejudice Act and is therefore punishable with a minimum of ten days in arrest."

"Bloody bastards! I did nothing wrong. How do you even know it was me?"

"You admit to the crime then." Draco motioned for his Aurors to enter.

"Nothing! I did NOTHING!"

"Take him to the Ministry," Draco ordered and watched dispassionately as Finnigan was disarmed upon drawing his wand and wrestled to the ground.

-o-

Not even half an hour later, Draco walked into the interrogation room, carefully watching Finnigan who was shackled to a chair. He quickly spelled a quill to take note of the interrogation.

"Mr Finnigan, I assume you know who I am?" Draco asked in place of introducing himself and took a seat across from his suspect. He received a glare in place of an answer. "Good. Are you aware of the charges brought against you?"

"This fucking law was made to end prejudice, but you are exploiting it to keep every critic mute and your business prosperous. You are criminalising decent people. You are the worst kind, Malfoy," Finnigan spat.

"Are you saying that us purebloods can't help but abuse the law for their own gain?" Draco leaned forward.

Finnigan snapped his mouth shut, his eyes following the quill scratching across the paper.

"I'd be very, very careful, Finnigan. Prejudice sneaks its way into everything if you look closely enough. It is not wise to make an enemy out of me. You know the law, you know the retributions for repeated offences. We wouldn't want to go that far, would we? After all, I have the feeling that you are quite fond of your wand, judging how quickly you wanted to curse me earlier." He smiled at the man that had fallen completely silent, his eyes spitting fire.

Long gone were the times directly after the war, when Draco had feared the opinion of people like him, when they could have meant his demise at the hand of Dementors. The Anti Prejudice Legislation, set into motion by the transitory Minister after the Dark Lord's fall, had been frowned upon by most in his social circles. But Draco had found a way to instrumentalise it to his benefit. Once his record had been cleared, he had petitioned for stricter enforcement of the law, had rewritten it until it had been distorted into a monstrous weapon against anyone who had frowned down upon him before. He had regained the upper hand when it had seemed like he had lost everything.

-o-

Draco filled in his report for Finnigan's arrest. Thirty days in a cell would hopefully humble the man. Bletchley would be satisfied with his work. The man feared nothing more than the power people's opinions had. If something shone a bad light at his Ministry and his associates, his position would be in in jeopardy. Draco was a tool for him to keep critical voices down to a minimum, and Draco didn't mind being used as his position opened possibilities to exert power that he couldn't achieve otherwise.

With a glance at his office clock, he decided to call it a day. Only on his way home, he realised that he had totally forgotten about Granger and Black. He shrugged to himself. One good deed every day and all that nonsense, Granger could call herself lucky. More so than Finnigan at least.

-o-

Draco should have anticipated that Finnigan's arrest would come with backlash. He had to admit to himself that he had underestimated the wrath of Finnigan's mentor and former prized journalist Rita Skeeter. Draco didn't dwell on it. He had learned to fail with success; failure was just a means to an end, the end being to work harder in achieving his aims.

Still, he was quite irritated by the onslaught of articles the woman published in various papers over the course of the next week that shone anything but a good light on the Ministry's dealings concerning the prejudice law and especially on the Ministry's tactictics regarding the market manipulation in the health sector. Luckily, the woman hadn't gotten word of his interference and especially his recent purchase of Bell's Meds Lab yet.

Draco knew that he had no chance of capturing Skeeter any time soon. Not that he hadn't tried. The woman was a master of evasion and hadn't been seen by any of his contacts in a long time. Somehow, she still managed to publish several sensational articles about politics and the economy lead by the wealthiest of society that held more truth than was comfortable. Her research was always on point, her words cutting deep into the ego of his circle of acquaintances. She frequently collaborated with other underground activists and Seamus Finnigan had been her secret apprentice for some time.

He made his way to the elevators in the Ministry, frowning at the Daily Prophet he had opted to read on his way to the office this morning. He squeezed into the cage behind a group of Goblins. Nasty beasts, but quite useful. They were hardworking and punctual, but also incredibly pedantic. They served their purpose in society though. Everyone had a place in their world, Draco knew that. Even Mudbloods and Werewolves had their use. There always were jobs no one else would voluntarily do and business owners like him always looked for cheap employment.

He watched the Goblins getting off just one level below him and then proceeded to the top floor. The Minister and his staff were among the few people who got an office above ground level. Bletchley liked to uphold traditional status symbols, liked to view himself as being on top and everyone else below him.

When Draco entered his office, he was greeted by a small mountain of letters, some a dangerous shade of red.

"Open them somewhere where I don't hear them," he instructed his secretary. "Quick, before they go off!"

The boy jumped up and gathered the howlers in his arms, quickly running into the adjacent room and banging the door behind him.

Draco hoped he would be clever enough to summon himself a pair of earmuffs. Otherwise, he feared he would have to send in all requests to him in writing for the rest of the day.

Destroying family businesses... unfair market tactics... abuse of power…! Draco heard from beyond the door. He sighed and cast a silencing charm.

Only ten minutes later, a notice arrived from the Minister asking him to come by his office to discuss important matters. Bletchley valued a smoothly-run system and being flooded by an onslaught of howlers certainly wasn't his definition of running smoothly. Draco was lucky that Skeeter hadn't been able to give any names in her article. Otherwise he wouldn't have dared to enter his own office that day.

-o-

Draco was lead into the Minister's office by a redhead with broad, muscular shoulders and dimples. He wondered why Bletchley hadn't asked for a woman with legs to the sky he could ogle at all day, but if certain rumours were true, he ogled his secretary regardless of gender.

Bletchley had a quality about him that made something as innocent as sexual orientation disgusting. It was the way his gaze sometimes lingered, how he tended to touch people who were subordinate to him. Draco suspected, that the man wasn't into guys per se, it was more than the was into power and exerting it over those below him. He simply saw in men the bigger threat to his power so he chose to be especially disgusting towards them.

"Malfoy." Draco took Bletchley's hand, which was uncomfortably warm as he squeezed his fingers a little too hard. The man actually believed that power was expressed by the firmness of a handshake alone. Pathetic.

"I am sure you haven't missed out on this unpleasant development," Bletchley said and tossed the Daily Prophet in front of him.

Ministry Legislation Drives Family Business Out of the Market, the headline read. Draco had already combed it twice, looking for any hint of sources as the information, while vague, was accurate.

"You don't have to worry, Minister," he assured him confidently. "Mistakes happen, and the press is an important pillar of our democracy. We will deal with this with professionalism and honesty."

"You," Bletchley stressed. "You will deal with the issue. I don't want my face associated with any of this, Malfoy," he spat. "You brought the proposal to the House of Heirs so you stand for it now."

Draco nodded. "Be assured that I will handle this." He didn't like the way the Minister spoke to him, but knew that the man loved the feeling of power, even if it was only symbolic, so he gave him what he wanted and played his scapegoat.

"Convene a press conference for tomorrow morning," Draco instructed his secretary upon his return to his office. The Howlers apparently had all gone off by that point and were nowhere in sight. "We have to react to this scandal immediately or the press with come up with conspiracy theories and ruin us before anything remotely true has been said."

He called it an early day after making sure to give the boy a list of things to take care of. Draco didn't trust him to do the task on his own, so he asked Penelope Clearwater from the Department of Internal Affairs to check that everything would run smoothly.

He apparated to the Manor. Not liking to look up at the menacing facade for long, he quickly hurried inside, chucking the Prophet he was somehow still carrying with him into the fire his elf was still in the process of lighting.

"It's freezing," he snarled. "Hurry up, will you?"

"I is sorry, master!" The elf quivered, bowing low. "Me not expecting you home this early."

He barely controlled his temper, realising that the events of the day had left him raw and irritated. He loosened his tie as he moved up the stairs towards his quarters in the far east wing of the manor.

Draco had trouble calling this place home any longer, but he refused to let his past catch up with him and flee the family estate to find a more comfortable place to live in. His ancestors had been living in this house for decades, and he wouldn't change that. He felt like he owed them despite the discomfort especially dark nights brought him. On new moon, Draco barely slept, and sometimes he avoided certain rooms for weeks until he finally found the strength to enter them again. His presence was still tangible for Draco. Like sinister shadows, it coiled around him in the darkest of nights. Too many bad memories stained the walls of the Manor to ever feel inviting to him again. He mainly kept to the small part that had remained untouched by the Dark Lord and his men during the summer he had taken residence in his family home.

Draco ordered his elf to prepare him a light meal and pour a Macallan Whiskey as he settled in his office to write his speech for the press conference for the next day. He needed something strong to write good speeches. And this one would need to be very good indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little teaser this time:
> 
> Next Chapter:
> 
> "No, I'm sure we are all aware that there is plenty of uncomfortable truths that none of us wants revealed." Draco let his gaze wander from face to face, punctuating his words. "If we don't take care of the press thoroughly, this will end in mayhem."
> 
> It was quiet, everyone waiting for him to offer a solution to the looming threat.
> 
> ::::::::::
> 
> What do you think? Do you like how I write Draco in this? It's a very Slytherin version of him, all scheming and planning :D


	4. Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Draco ordered his elf to prepare him a light meal and pour a Macallan Whiskey as he settled in his office to write his speech for the press conference for the next day. He needed something strong to write good speeches. And this one would need to be very good indeed.

Draco stepped in front of the microphone and waited for the journalists to fall silent. They looked at him like hungry hyenas, waiting for him to fail so they could tear apart the carcass.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he greeted, speaking clearly and slowly. "I know you all have questions burning on the tip of your tongues, but please respect that at this point we aren't able to answer any of them."

Grumbling filled the room. "Rest assured, we will return with answers in due time. For now," he raised a hand to calm the crowd, "I would like to make a statement on the issue regarding the market inequity." At this point, he knew he had them hanging on every word. They hadn't expected him to tackle the issue head on.

"I was asked to make a statement on the law that I personally supported," hissing filled the room, and he heard quills scratching across parchment, "at the benefit of every citizen, or so I believed. We became aware of the unfair market development thanks to an investigative report by a member of the press. The legislations put into place to secure the quality of health products and the safety of customers have backfired and worked in favour of big companies and against the interests of smaller, family-owned businesses. The laws that were passed to improve the healthcare industry have, in fact, proven to lead to an unfair market development and drive small businesses into bankruptcy."

Wide eyes told him that no one in the room wanted to miss even a single of his words by then. They didn't even realise that he was telling nothing new. All those information and valid proof for them could be read in Skeeter's article.

"I therefore will not stop until we have revoked these laws and eradicated this flaw in our legislation. I guarantee you here," he emphasised, "that we will balance the market again and will find other strategies to ensure a secure healthcare system."

"Thank you for your attention," he added with a nod and stepped off the stage as cameras flashed.

Bletchley clapped him on the back. "Well done, Malfoy. That was excellent policy." Draco wished the man would keep his sweaty hands to himself. He made a mental note to order his house-elf to wash the formal robes he had donned for the occasion as soon as he returned to the manor.

"We'll need to schedule a meeting with some of the families in the House of Heirs. We can't revoke the law on our own," he reminded the Minister.

"Of course, my boy. I'll call in a social gathering for our friends." Draco wanted to punch the man for calling him a boy. He wanted to do all kinds of violent things to the slimy caterpillar, but he clenched and unclenched his fist behind his back and gave the Minister a small smile instead.

The Minister's estate was pompous and tastelessly opulent. The mansion had too many flourishes to please the eye. It was an overwhelming mess of marble columns and oriel windows. Draco wondered how wealthy people could have so little taste.

An elf wearing an embroidered drape like a gown lead him to what looked like the most clichéd image of a gentleman's room. Draco could swear that the dark leather couches and hunting trophies were put in place purely because this was what Bletchley believed a real gentleman's room looked like. Flint and Zabini were already gathered around a chess board made from colourful crystals. Nott was animatedly talking to the Minister who immediately spotted Draco and couldn't hide his relief to finally have an excuse to leave the annoying bastard by the fireplace and welcome Draco.

"Malfoy, it's good to see you could make it. I was worried the current affair would keep you too occupied to join us."

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Of course he was here, this was where the decisions were made, where politics happened after all. He hated the empty drivel Bletchley always poured on him like honey whenever he needed someone to unite the families. Bletchley was shit at negotiating, and he knew well that Draco had a high standing among the important members of the House of Heirs. As much as the Minister might hate it, he simply relied on Draco to enforce his plans. The only reason Bletchley was in office right now was that he had powerful friends that he had promised all kinds of benefits and that he managed to appeal to the masses with overly enthusiastic promises of debureaucratization and attracting big business to create more jobs. People were so easy to lie to, it was ridiculous.

"Where's Slughorn? He's an easy vote," Draco asked.

"Oh, he'll arrive a little later today. I had to talk him out of giving up his seat. He is the last of his family and wants to go into retirement, but two tickets to the opera house convinced him to stay with us for another year."

"Good, make sure there is expensive wine and sugared pineapple," Draco instructed.

The left eye of the Minister twitched with withheld irritation. He didn't deal well with orders, but Draco couldn't deny himself this little joy. If he was saving Bletchley's arse, the man should show a little more gratitude.

He was relieved to see that the Minister wasn't relying on family seats alone when selecting his guests. Peebles and Carter both held regular seats and were currently enjoying a glass of schnaps while talking animatedly about the Appleby Arrows winning against the Chudley Cannons.

When everyone had finally arrived, Draco delivered a toast to the gathering and stated the purpose of it.

Everyone seemed to want to give their opinion on the matter first.

"If people start questioning our politics, soon they will scrutinise every decision we make," Zabini interjected after the immediate response had died down.

"That's why we need to act on this swiftly and assure that our image stays clean," the Minister agreed.

"That means no more money laundering in your pubs, Theo," Draco said.

The man scowled. "I'm not the only one whose vest is no longer white."

"No, I'm sure we are all aware that there is plenty of uncomfortable truths that none of us wants revealed." Draco let his gaze wander from face to face, punctuating his words. "If we don't take care of the press thoroughly, this will end in mayhem."

It was quiet, everyone waiting for him to offer a solution to the looming threat.

"We will revoke the market regulations as a first step," Draco said, supplying them with what they desired. "That way the immediate issue will be resolved."

"Of course you want to have a free market now that you've bought the last independent apothecary in London," Nott grumbled.

"We will all benefit from the tax cuts on produce."

Some hummed in agreement.

"But that's just going to satisfy the press for a while," Flint warned. "Our image still has some major scratches from the scandal. They will continue to write about how we feather our own vests by passing self-beneficial legislations."

"We need to press charges against those tabloids," someone demanded.

"That isn't going to shine a good light on us, as much as I wish we could do that." Draco shook his head. "And you can all believe me that I have worked tirelessly to catch Rita Skeeter to put an end to her outrageous articles, but the woman is a master at hiding." He didn't tell them how impossible it was to catch a beetle. No need to put all his cards on the table. Her animagus status was still unknown by the public.

"You convinced us that the Anti-Discrimination Act would help us clear the field and finally go into prosperous business again, Malfoy," one of the Selwyn brothers said. "Do something."

"I will think of a way to improve our families' image in the eyes of the press if you stand behind me when we revoke this legislation," he promised. He was clueless to how he would achieve that, but he was resourceful and would think of something.

As was expected, the men agreed to give him their vote and the Minister gave a sappy speech about solidarity in hard times before ordering his elves to bring scotch and gin to celebrate their agreement.

-o-

Draco usually liked his ideas; he was a formidable strategist without needing to be humble about his skill of being able to dig himself out of every hole. This time, however, he seriously doubted if his mind was working as he was used to. He had woken up that morning with a hangover and an idea how to properly distract the press from any important political topics that was even more uncomfortable than the headache hammering against his skull from the inside.

He attributed it to his current state of mind and ordered his elves to prepare a full English breakfast to satiate the hunger for greasy, salty food that usually overcame him after having a few drinks too many. He was confident that by the end of the day, he would find a better option to polish the image of the wizarding high society.

Even when he had taken care of his bills and thrown away at least twenty charity requests after randomly picking one for his monthly donations, he was still mulling over the implications of the outrageous plan his brain had come up with overnight.

By evening, he sighed to himself and prepared for a visit. He donned his coat and apparated to a dirty street southeast of the centre of London.

It was Sunday, so she would be at home, he surmised. He didn't usually go so unprepared into any business meeting, but he knew that he needed to work out something by tomorrow morning or the pureblood families would grow restless. Nothing was more dangerous than wealthy people who feared the loss of their money and status.

Draco entered the stairwell, climbing to the second landing while avoiding to touch anything. The steps creaked and groaned under his weight and it smelled of old wood and cleaners. Drawing his wand, he magically knocked on her door.

There was a shuffle and then it opened just a tiny crack. She stared at him with huge eyes then looked down at his wand that he was still holding. Squinting at the dark hall behind him, she checked for any other visitors before she breathed, "Malfoy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all waiting for the Dramione to start, and I promise it will (You know me, I'm all for slow-burn :P). Leave a comment to let me know what you think!
> 
> Here a little teaser for the next chapter:
> 
> Her face slipped a little, and for a second Draco saw the fire behind her eyes that he remembered from their school time. "You want to use me."
> 
> He smiled coldly. "I never said anything else."


	5. Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramione starts now :D I know I keep you waiting and that my buildups tend to be long, but from here on, there will be all the Dramione you want and plenty more :3

"Granger," he greeted.

"Sirius is not here," she lied with panicked eyes.

Putting a hand against the wood of the door, Draco pushed it open so he could enter.

With a little squeak, Granger stumbled backwards, revealing the same empty room he had gladly left barely a week ago.

Suddenly, a growling and snarling black monster appeared, and Draco felt the fine hairs in his neck rise. He aimed his wand at the beast, but was hindered by Granger clinging to his arm.

"Don't hurt him, he's just scared," she pleaded with him, fisting the fabric of his sleeve.

Draco shook her off. "Tell Black to back off, or I'll kill him right here."

He had seen the man turn into a dog once before. It had been at the battle of Hogwarts where Black had actually taken it up with Fenrir Greyback after the werewolf had torn their old defense teacher apart. There had been nothing human in the way Black had pounced Greyback in revenge for his mauled friend and ripped his throat out. It had been an ugly death, fitting the ugly life Greyback had lived and the world had breathed a little easier with the man gone.

But that image prevailed, ingrained into his brain forever. Draco wouldn't hesitate to cast an unforgivable to keep Black from ripping out his throat as well.

Granger immediately stepped between him and the dog, pushing the beast back by leaning against it, her hands tearing at the fur of its neck. "Stop it, Sirius. That's enough," she murmured. "Everything is alright." Her words seemed to calm the dog despite her trembling voice. Draco heard her whisper faintly under her breath, and the dog relaxed further, leaning into her hands.

"I'll do whatever it takes," she turned to him, begging with her eyes. "Just don't take him back to Azkaban."

"I'm not here for that," Draco replied, not letting the dog out of sight. Black had calmed, licking his snout now and at Grangers hands. Disgusting.

Her gaze wavered for a moment and then settled on relived. "What can I do for you then?"

The dog yawned, showing off yellowed teeth. Grey streaks lined the fur along his muzzle. He blinked at Draco with tired eyes and then huffed before trotting to a corner and curling in on himself.

"He prefers to be a dog most days," Granger supplied him, unsolicited. "It's easier—less thinking, less worries. For dogs, everything becomes a bit numb, simple smells and impressions take over and overlay anything else."

Still a know-it-all, Drao surmised.

Granger noticed his sceptical gaze. "Don't worry, it doesn't seem that way, but he's much tamer in this form than as a human. I talked to him about his behavior, too. He won't try anything again."

Draco didn't quite believe her, no matter how convinced she sounded. He had seen the fangs of the beast and had felt the wrath of the man. He was hostile and dangerous. Nothing could make him turn his back to the dog who still kept a watchful eye on him and Granger.

"You'll want to sit down," Draco said, opting to keep standing in case Black decided to come at him again.

"O-okay." She gently settled on the edge of one of her two chairs.

"I have a job for you, something to clear your record with me."

"A job?"

Draco nodded. "The press has been awfully critical of our political system lately," he explained. A low snore caused him to twitch in irritation. Black had apparently fallen asleep, breathing deeply while lying in his corner.

"I used a sleeping spell on him to calm him down." Granger shrugged apologetically.

Draco shook his head to focus back on the issue. "We are looking for a way to make the press agreeable again. I think they need to see their Golden Girl from time to time to be reminded that we are building a better world and that we want to leave old stigmas behind. Whatever the Ministry decides on, it can't be too bad in the image of the press if you are the one representing it."

Her face slipped a little, and for a second Draco saw the fire behind her eyes that he remembered from their school time. "You want to use me."

He smiled coldly. "I never said anything else."

"I had a deal," Granger growled. "I'll be quiet, stay down and away from politics. I will not criticise the current government and in turn they let Sirius go. That was the deal. I won't stand by this regime's side for any more than that."

He filed that information away for later use. Draco hadn't been aware that Bletchley had taken care of Granger by striking a deal. "You only have to stand by my side. I dislike Bletchley just as much as you do."

She shook her head violently as if she wanted to wake herself up from an unpleasant dream.

Draco sighed. "Well, I didn't want to stoop this low, but you really leave me no choice…"

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could utter a word.

"You still owe me for what that mutt did to me." He pointed to the corner where the dog was still snoring. "And I have no qualms telling your employer about your trespassing either. You didn't just steal from Bell, you stole from me as well as I am now the owner of the Lab." His tone got darker while speaking, and he revelled in the sight of her shrinking back. This was power, and he understood how to wield it.

Her gaze was cast downwards, her eyes fixed upon the cracked floorboards. The room was silent safe the steady drop of the broken tap that Granger was apparently unable to fix.

She hugged herself and sunk further back in the chair. "I'll do it," she said. Her voice empty, beaten.

"A wise decision."

She didn't answer, just stared at the floor.

He pulled out the second chair and straddled it. "Look, this isn't my ideal option either—"

"No, it's okay," she said quietly. "I knew something like this was going to come either way. Maybe it's better sooner than later."

She raised her head and looked out of the small window that offered a lovely view of the back of a street filled with overflowing garbage cans. "So what is it they want me to do?"

"You'll join me in next week's Beltane festival and smile for the journalists."

"A party? That's it?" Granger's eyes turned back to him, her tone sceptical.

"What else did you think I'd ask of you?"

"I thought… I guess women aren't exactly expected to play an active role in politics, are they?" She smiled with a bitter irony. Something resentful played around her lips.

"Of course not," Draco answered, perplexed.

She shook her head as if he had said something completely outlandish. "Why Beltane?"

He shrugged. "It's about seeing and being seen; the whole nation is watching. It's a political spectacle."

"Right, I remember that Fudge always held some big party when we were younger. I wasn't exactly interested in that part of the Witch Weekly gossip."

"Not that you were interested in any part of it."

She actually chuckled. "Not really, no."

-o-

He sent an owl to her with an appropriate dress for the occasion. Draco had no wish to go to her flat again to hand it over, and he trusted Granger to know how to make herself presentable. A strange warmth rose his neck when he thought back to the Yule Ball in their fourth year. She certainly had managed to clean up nicely then.

Draco met her at the gates to Malfoy Manor. At first he had been irritated that she hadn't accepted the invitation to meet him in the entrance hall, but when he saw the expression on her face as she stared up at the towers of his estate, he repressed the urge to snap at her. They both shared equally unpleasant memories of the place, and while he had forced himself to get used to it, Granger hadn't laid eyes on the building since his aunt had taken delight in cutting her arm up.

The last dusk of April was fresh, the dying rays of the sun too weak to warm the night. The afterglow illuminated Granger's features that were accentuated by her hair pulled back and twisted into a braided knot. Draco wasn't sure if he'd regret buying her a periwinkle-blue dress. The deja vu was strong as he took her in. He had chosen this particular dress because he had been sure it would suit her. He doubted she would have accepted Slytherin green and anything close to red was out of the question for him. He knew it was childish, but with blue he knew he was on safe grounds.

"Let's go." Draco offered his hand and pulled her closer as he apparated. As was expected, there were a number of journalists at the entrance of Bletchley's estate who hadn't received an invitation and were not allowed at the festival.

He put his hand at the small of Granger's back and turned her towards the flashing cameras, offering a reserved smile and hoping that she was clever enough to do the same. Then he led her through the gates that were flanked by two pegasus horses carved from ice and charmed to prance with their wings beating wildly.

"Impressive," Granger commented, sounding more sceptical than awed. Her gaze wandered along the marquees that were bewitched with glowing patterns gliding over the fabric, seemingly moving in the soft breeze. The heating spells inside the tents gave the impression of an afterglow of the setting sun.

"Remember to keep up the image," Draco told her in a low voice as he spotted the important people from the press holding small talk with Nott and a girl at his side. She barely counted as a woman and was laughing overly loud. Draco was instantly glad that Granger would never be as ostentatious.

Bletchley had made a good decision on which journalists he had picked to receive the rare accreditations. They were all well-known, but focused on shallow gossip. The worst they could cover of the night was Flint kissing someone other than his wife.

"Malfoy! I see you have brought a surprise guest today," Bletchley greeted them with outstretched hands.

Granger flinched beside him barely noticeable, but with his hand still supporting her back while guiding her towards the festive, Draco felt it clearly.

"Minister." Draco shook Bletchley's hand. "I assume you already know Miss Granger?"

"Of course, of course." He smiled widely. "How wonderful to see you again, Hermione!" Taking Grangers hand, he bowed over it in a formal hand kiss.

Draco sensed that there was something he didn't know about these two. They clearly knew each other outside of the occasional greeting at events after the war. Was this related to the deal Granger had mentioned?

"The pleasure is all mine," Granger answered. Draco could have sworn that her voice was shaking a little, and her smile seemed strangely strained.

"I hope you'll feel right at home. I'm afraid I have to leave you two alone and welcome the other guests now."

Something about the way Bletchley looked at Granger made Draco incredibly uncomfortable. As if he was undressing her with his eyes, not in a sexual way but like a threat.

She was holding onto him now, as if he was the only person that could keep her sheltered from lurking figures. What safety Granger hoped to gain from staying by his side, he couldn't fathom.

He fetched two drinks from a floating tray passing them and took a deep swig.

Every year on Beltane, an unwanted bout of melancholia overcame Draco. It reminded him too much if his childhood, of the festivities his mother had held at the manor. Nothing could quite reach the glory of his memories, and this distorted version of his formerly favourite celebration left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

Trying to keep himself busy and distracted, he introduced Granger to some more people, and kept her engaged in conversations. She held her own well, but still, Draco was slightly nervous when they were approached by Cassandra Columna—head writer of the Witch Weekly.

"Miss Granger, what a surprise to see you back in the public eye!" she greeted, a Quick Quotes Quill and a notepad floating next to her. Her hungry eyes settled onto him. "And with such an interesting choice of company."

Granger smiled. "It actually was Draco's idea to invite me." His name rolled off her tongue effortlessly as if she had never called him any differently.

"Interesting! I see my dear readers have to worry about this elite bachelor being off the market soon." Columna cackled, and Draco had a hard time keeping himself from reaching out and squeezing her scrawny neck.

Granger chuckled, but her cheeks were aflame.

"Since when are you and Hermione this close, Draco? Is it okay if I call you that? My readers will be surprised," she continued talking, not letting him answer, "seeing as you usually have…" she hesitated just the fraction of a section, "witches from other social circles by your side."

"We ran into each other by chance a few weeks ago," Draco answered without missing a beat. "I found her company a pleasing diversion. We have quite a few interests in common."

"Wonderful," Columna clapped her hands. "We hope to see more of you two. What an enchanting pair you make!" She smiled again, her voice sweet as if her teeth were made of candy. "Toodle-oo!" She wriggled her fingers in an infantile way and moved on to the next pair of guests.

"Well done," Draco said when Granger let out a breath she had been holding.

He fetched them more sparkling wine, watching Granger frowning at a group of dancing Veela and some men who were a little too keen on getting their attention. They were instructed to keep their magic tamed, but some less controlled wizards had a hard time keeping from ogling them and blowing kisses their way.

"So you bought Katie's Lab?" Granger suddenly asked, sipping at her glass.

He nodded. "Bell signed the other day, yes."

"Just in time to profit from the market regulations being revoked then." Her tone was neutral, but Draco sensed the accusation resonating in her statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you like it so far? I've got plenty of reviews already about how mean Draco is :'D I know it's bad, but he'll have to start somewhere.


	6. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will reveal more of Hermione's story.
> 
> ::::::::::
> 
> Previously:
> 
> "So you bought Katie's Lab?" Granger suddenly asked, sipping at her glass.
> 
> He nodded. "Bell signed the other day, yes."
> 
> "Just in time to profit from the market regulations being revoked then." Her tone was neutral, but Draco sensed the accusation resonating in her statement.

He looked down at her. "She still holds the rights to accrue a share of the store, you know? It's still a family-owned business. I'm just helping out a little so she doesn't have to go out of business. It's a common practice that secures jobs and keeps the economy stable."

"She holds the rights to accrue a share?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean she doesn't have the share yet?"

"She'll earn it back as part of her salary over a four-year period."

Granger scoffed. "So you are having her work for you to earn back her own shop? How long will she need to work for that?"

"Depending on how much profit the Lab makes in relation to the current market price of course."

"Which is going to increase now due to the market being deregulated again."

"That's basic economy, Granger." He wanted to turn the conversation elsewhere, but she didn't back off.

"I just want to make sure I understand this right: You are the Undersecretary, so you have a say in which legislations are passed in the House of Heirs. You propose some of your own and specifically supported the ones that pushed Katie out of business, and then you sweep in and buy everything from her so she doesn't have to close the shop down.

Then you petition for deregulation so you can earn good money with the shop and increase its value. While Katie works for you to earn back shares, the value of the Lab will increase tenfold to its lower worth due to impending bankruptcy. Win-win for you, and on top of that you still market it as family-owned business as if that actually meant anything of value." Granger gasped for air after rushing through her conclusions. It was just like she had rattled off answers to questions in every class.

"Basically," Draco relented, seeing no flaw in her conclusion. It sounded as if he was an evil mastermind plotting all this the way she phrased it. Of course he had plotted all that. He just wished she were less attentive. Why couldn't she be an airhead like so many other girls? He'd happily buy her some expensive jewelry to shut her up, but Draco feared that it might not work with Granger.

"So one day Katie will be the sole owner of the shop again, if she manages to scrape together enough money?"

"I granted her a share," Draco emphasised, pretty annoyed at this point.

"How much?" It wasn't even a question any more, it was a scandalised demand.

"Ten percent. I guaranteed her ten percent. Are we done with the interrogation now? This is confidential, and I am not even allowed to talk about the matter with you."

"Merlin, you really are despicable."

Draco glowered. "This is my job, it's what I do, Granger. I buy businesses, and I sell them at a higher price. I happen to specialise in healthcare, so I wanted to buy my biggest competitor in the B2C market, and that's what I did." She didn't get to judge him with her righteousness, he wouldn't allow it.

Granger had withdrawn her hand from his arm, and he now felt the cold night where she had been at his side since the beginning of the evening.

"No competition means you get to regulate the prices however it suits you. How do you sleep at night, Draco? All those people dependent on your potions and medication, and you can just take them all to the cleaners if you wanted to." Her tone was bitter.

Draco didn't reply and instead scowled at the crowd that was cheering as fireworks announced midnight. What did he care about random people? He didn't force anyone to buy his products.

"I think I want to go home now," she said quietly, rubbing her arms. "Sirius is waiting."

"I'll take you back when the journalists have left," he replied. "For now, I want you to smile for the pictures. Make it look convincing." Draco took her hand and put it back into the crook of his arm where he held it in place. He already regretted asking Granger to do this, but now she was already here. Hopefully, it was effective enough to distract the press from the misdeeds of their government.

-o-

It was more than effective. As he read the next day's news with a scowl, Draco realised that he had actually hoped it wouldn't work out. Their image was printed all over the front page.

On the one hand, this was a relief for countless purebloods in his social circle because the papers engaged in frivolous gossip. On the other hand it meant endless suffering on his side of things. He'd have to do it again, Draco realised. And again, and again. At least until the press got bored of him and Granger and hopefully forgot about the whole market equality affair till then.

She would be delighted.  
-o-

As Draco approached Granger's front door, he passed a dark-skinned man who towered over him with an exceedingly long neck. The man gave him a funny look, and then he was gone.

Draco turned to look after him. A feeling twisted at the back of his mind, trying to remind him of something important, but it was just out of reach. He stared into nothingness for a moment before shaking himself out of it and proceeding up the stairs until he came to a halt on Granger's doorstep. Again.

He sighed, straightened up and tried not to let his annoyance at being in this situation repeatedly show on his face. The door opened just seconds after his knock.

"Please, you can't come here, they will take—oh, it's you…" Granger trailed off.

"Who was the man visiting you?" Draco asked, quickly connecting the dots.

"D-Dean. An old friend."

Draco remotely remembered a dark-skinned boy from Gryffindor.

There was something else, that he knew he had forgotten about the man. If he'd been carrying a Remembrall with him, he was sure the smoke inside would turn bright red. He tried to shake the feeling off.

"What secrets do you have to hide that he can't visit you?"

"Why don't you come in?" she asked in place of an answer.

"I'd rather not." Draco tried to make out whether Black was there or had taken on the form of a dog again. "Get a cloak, I'll take you out," he ordered. He could swear that Granger rolled her eyes, but she turned so quickly that he couldn't quite tell. Today, her hair was flying wild like it had at school. It gave Draco a strange sense of nostalgia.

She left the door ajar just enough so he could make out half of the room. Black wasn't in sight. Draco tentatively pushed the door open further until he could get a look at the whole room, but to his surprise Black didn't seem to be home. For a second, Draco wondered if the man was at work before snorting at the notion of the drunkard working in any profession at all.

"Sirius is mad at me," Granger answered his unasked question when she reappeared from the adjacent room that probably was the bedroom. Draco wondered if Black shared the room with her, if they were sleeping in the same bed, if…

"He didn't like our arrangement, which can't be argued against," she said, donning a worn coat. She quickly braided her hair again. It would look much better if she'd leave it loose, he thought, but didn't comment. Granger didn't need to know what he thought about her appearance.

"Where are we going?" Her tone was tired. Black being a giant baby about something she had no control over seemed to wear on her, and she hid it badly.

Draco wordlessly offered an extended hand. The moment their fingers touched, he apparated to Muggle London. He had contemplated taking her to Diagon Alley to further the narrative he had been feeding to the press about them going out, but the matter of their conversation was too private to take to a place where they were known. He didn't trust her Gryffindor nature to be disciplined enough to hide displeasure when he presented her with the future plan.

After leading her out of the narrow alley he had chosen as a destination to inconspicuously land in, he found them a coffee shop and held the door open so she could enter.

"Tea," Draco ordered without bothering to look at the menu and urged Granger to take a seat in the back.

He took out the Daily Prophet and handed it to her. While she read, Draco subtly cast a few spells to keep their conversation private. Then he carefully watched her reaction to the article about their 'outing'.

Granger's face remained stoic, her eyes radiating bleak acceptance.

"What does this mean now?" she asked, putting the paper aside when she had finished.

"Why can't your friends visit you? What are you hiding?" Draco changed the topic. He needed to be sure that he could trust her to not ruin this with any skeletons she might have in the closet.

She looked perplexed, then she seemed to remember the Dean guy he had met in her stairwell.

"It's just… I don't want to get into trouble."

"Are your friends trouble?"

"No! Absolutely not. I—I can't… it's complicated."

"Enlighten me," he drawled.

She sighed. "I constantly have to keep Sirius from Azkaban. He—They want to keep me under control I guess. I was active in politics after the war, no time to even go back to school, I went right into the Ministry. I wanted to make it better, to never again live in a system where children like Harry lost their parents and grew up without a childhood, where no family had to be poor like the Weasleys, where no Muggleborn has to feel excluded because of—because of…"

"Pureblood pricks," he supplied.

A shy smile flitted across her features, but it immediately disappeared in despair. "The main reason I fought so hard to gain some influence was to get Sirius out. They just put him back in Azkaban as if his innocence had never been proven…" She shook her head, staring down at her hands in her lap "It's what Harry—what Harry would have expected me to do. I tried everything, but the bureaucracy was a mess at that time. That was when Bletchley visited me the first time."

"The Minister?" Draco leaned forward.

"Yeah…" She trailed off, and then it was like a dam had broken and everything spilled out from her. "He wasn't the Minister back then, but already pretty high up the social ladder. He came with big promises, said he wanted to help me getting Sirius out because he seriously believed him to be innocent. He just wanted me stay back a little. He said that my interference didn't help, only made it bigger of a mess to sort out.

I agreed. At that point I felt so guilty, I felt like I was the reason Sirius had been in there for longer than necessary. Bletchley kept his promise. Sirius got out only a week later. I fetched him from the Ministry.

But when I started to make my voice heard again, there were suddenly Aurors showing up, they were going to take Sirius back, they said there had been procedural errors—"

"The tea," a sing-song voice interrupted them. The waitress leaned past Draco, brushing by a little too close to him for comfort and put down two cups of english breakfast tea with small scones on the side.

Granger stared at the table, her fingers tracing lines on the wood.

"Anything else I can bring you?" the intrusive woman asked, solely looking at Draco with a honey smile.

"No," he replied curtly. She looked a little affronted, but took the hint and retreated beyond Draco's privacy spell.

Granger wet her lips, her fingers circling the cup in front of her as if seeking comfort in the warmth of the tea.

"That doesn't answer my question regarding your friends," Draco reminded her. Something sadistic inside him wanted to hear the end of her story, wanted to know the whole extent of her suffering.

She nodded. "I begged Bletchley not to take Sirius back, but he said that I hadn't kept my end of the deal." Taking a sip from her cup, Granger sighed. "I had made a deal with the devil... I got to keep Sirius out of prison, and in turn I wasn't able to stay in the public eye any longer." She fell silent, stirring her tea.

Draco sensed that he just needed to wait for her to continue so he held himself back and didn't push.

"They checked on me, came at random times, sometimes in the middle of the night. They came every time I had been spotted meeting someone from my old circle of friends. They destroyed my furniture, they took away my books…" Granger looked like she was about to cry.

Draco felt remotely uncomfortable now, all perverse fascination with her story gone. Why was she being so open with him?

"I—I stopped going out then. I stopped working until the money ran out, and even then I didn't dare to take on a proper job."

"I would have expected more of you, Granger," Draco said, trying to make his voice sound malicious, gloating.

"What choice did I have?" she asked. "Sirius doesn't deserve this."

"Neither do you."

She laughed a hollow laugh. It made his chest constrict in a funny way. Didn't she have any self-worth?

Granger had always been this proud creature, proud and annoying, but somehow like a rock in an ever-changing world. Unmovable. This version of her was all wrong and gave Draco the strangest sense of reality distorting out of shape to make the impossible happen. To break Hermione Granger, the girl that had bled on his drawing room floor and hadn't spilled her secrets to Bellatrix, the girl that had stood among the few people surviving the final battle.

She nervously fumbled with the edge of the Prophet. "What now?" she asked after they had been quiet for a while.

Her eyes were still surveying the article, their picture dominating the page with her tentative smile and his stoic expression, his hand holding hers trapped so she would stand right next to him. There was so little movement in the picture that it could have easily been mistaken for a Muggle one.

"Now we do it again," Draco said and watched as her eyebrows drew together and her jaw clenched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, and let me know what you think :3


	7. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to another chapter!
> 
> Some people call the spirit that gets them writing their muse. It never felt like that for me. To me it's more like a temporary insanity that overcomes me, forcing me to write like a madwoman until the story has bleed out of my fingers into my laptop :D well... that's a gruesome picture, isn't it? haha
> 
> I've had this writing insanity going on for about three months now I think, maybe four which made me write this story and start a new one right afterwards before I even finished the final editing. I'm not sure how long The Insanity (that's what I'll call it from now :D) will last. It usually only goes on for a few weeks so this time it's been exceptionally long already. I feel like it could leave me shortly, there are some big changes ahead of me that will keep me occupied more than my usual everyday life so it might mean the end of The Insanity. You don't have to worry about this story though, as it's essentially written :D
> 
> But enough of this! Here's the chapter:
> 
> ::::::::::
> 
> Previously:
> 
> She nervously fumbled with the edge of the Prophet. "What now?" she asked after they had been quiet for a while.
> 
> "Now we do it again," Draco said and watched as her eyebrows drew together and her jaw clenched.

Granger had only nodded at the prospect of continuously posing as a way to polish his and the Ministry's image.

With the promise of returning when the next event would demand her presence, Draco had taken her back to her home.

Her sad story made him uncomfortable. It made sense now, her empty flat, her unusually timid demeanor. Somehow, he would have preferred the old Granger to this pitiful version of her. He wasn't cruel, he didn't get off on exerting power over weak opponents. Or maybe he just liked a challenge, and it irritated him that someone had taken that from him. Someone had broken her before he had had a chance to.

-o-

Skeeter had become silent, and that worried Draco. Usually, she published two or three articles a month. The fact that she hadn't been active for over two months meant that either she had nothing to spout—which was unlikely—or that she was working on something big, something dangerous.

He had initiated a search of the Prophet's headquarters to find information on her whereabouts and sources, but the only thing he found out was a brief letter to the chief editor. The man had been careless to keep the note rather than destroying it, but it was hardly enough to issue a warning against him to refuse all contact with Skeeter as persona non grata.

Draco just hoped that there soon would be another trace of the woman. He couldn't risk her blowing up everything he had worked toward for so long.

-o-

On Wednesday, Draco had to sit through another of Zabini's poker nights. They discussed Flint's latest visit to a Muggle strip club elaborately. Draco snorted as the man boasted about all the nice tits he got to see.

"Can we all agree, that we are much better off being tolerant towards Muggles?" Zabini drawled as he lifted his scotch to toast to Flint.

"Your father would turn over in his grave, Blaise," Draco commented drily.

"Which one?" Zabini grinned. "I swear, mother isn't holding back, no matter how old she gets. She's somewhere on Sicily right now with her new beau."

"Ugh, disgusting, Blaise." Draco pulled a face.

"You don't even have to watch her suck his face at every family meeting!"

Everyone in the group howled with laughter. Sometimes, nights like these weren't that bad, Draco surmised. It certainly felt good to chat like they all used to do in the Slytherin common room. But it was also nights like these where he missed the silent presence of Vince and Greg. They had always been there with them, mostly eating whatever they had stolen from the kitchen that night. But the war had changed everything. Draco would never forget the fire. And their screams...

"Ace of clubs," Zabini announced as he revealed the next card.

"Oh bloody hell," Flint growled, pouting at his hand.

"Flint!" Nott rebuked. "You are supposed to keep a straight face. It's no fun if you continue to tell everyone how abysmal your hand is. It's no wonder you lose all the time."

"I'd rather have a girl dance on my lap right now." Flint sighed and leaned backwards on the sofa.

Draco smirked. "Your wife must be the happiest woman to walk this earth."

"You should be grateful you don't have a harpy like that at home! It's hell, I swear."

"I think she agrees on that," Zabini interjected as he called.

Nott collected the pot with a pair of Jacks. "I'm sure Draco will soon experience firsthand what misery you go through every day, Marcus. At least he is no longer a bachelor as both the Prophet and Witch Weekly agree on."

"It's just to save your sorry arses from the hungry press," Draco grumbled.

"Oh, but Granger looked so in love, clinging to you all night."

"Shut up, Nott."

"How does it feel to finally live out your long time fantasy? Is her sweet little cunt how you imagined it?"

Draco didn't quite know when or how he had gotten up, but the next thing he knew that he had decked Nott in the face. Twice.

Flint and Zabini quickly pulled him off the man now lying on the marble floor of Zabini's city mansion. Struggling against Zabini's grip on his torso, he sharply pulled his elbow back and heard a satisfying grunt of pain.

"Fucking hell. Relax, Draco." Zabini pushed him back onto the sofa, keeping him down with a hand to his chest, leaning his whole weight against him. "Merlin, I've never seen you this agitated. One could think you're smitten with her."

"Get your fucking hands off me, Zabini," Draco growled, and reluctantly, Zabini eased off. "I swear, if you grope me like that again, I'll Sectumsempra them right off so you won't ever be able to wank again."

Nott chuckled and then winced, nursing his bloody nose. "No daddy here to keep you from fucking a Mudblood any longer. You're a free man, Drake."

"Merlin, you're revolting."

Flint shoved Draco's cards back into his hands, desperate to make use of his good hand, and they somehow settled back into the game without ripping each other's throat out. Their poker faces were a bit strained though.

Draco was ready to ignore the issue, but Nott simply couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. "She cleaned up quite nicely. Her arse looked good enough to eat in that dress she was wearing."

He felt his hackles rise and bared his teeth, throwing his cards on the table. "If you don't quit talking about her, this will be the last time I am part of this."

"Oh Draco, I know you can't miss out on all the interesting information that is dealt with here," Nott said, vanishing the blood on his shirt and handing out another round of scotch.

"I got an offer from your supplier, Morcott or what's his name, he proposed to have me invest in some greenhouses close to Southampton. Thinks he can get a better deal with me, I suppose."

Draco frowned and leaned back on the sofa again.

"Didn't you already have a deal with that man, Drake?" Flint asked. "I thought it was cut and dried already."

"Indeed."

"Morcott has been making empty promises left and right. One day, he'll have sold all of his credit of trust." Zabini shrugged and collected the cards to mix them again.

"Want me to go along with it until he doesn't have enough time to find another buyer and has to sell to you at a lower price?" Nott asked.

Draco recognised the thinly veiled apology and accepted it, allowing Nott and himself to keep face in front of each other and spare them the fallout.

Deep down, he suspected, that Nott was incredibly lonely. He was downright pitiful. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had never bothered to take care of him, instead hiring nannies to take care of his offspring. There was no extended family left, as not everyone had made it out of the Dark Lord's regime alive.

Draco refused to acknowledge that his family was essentially long gone as well.

-o-

Later that week, Draco realised that Granger could be quite useful to finally go through with a longtime plan of his.

He apparated to her doorstep on Saturday and made his way upstairs. To his surprise, her door was slightly ajar and voices sounded down the stairwell.

"Please, just one more month, and you can charge the interest too." Her voice sounded clearly desperate.

"You think you can fool me, Granger? I have plenty of other options to rerent this flat. I'll do a complete renovation and can earn at least twice the amount," Draco heard a man reply as he took two steps at a time to reach her door.

"What is this?" Draco asked as he pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.

Granger seemed mortified by his presence. "Nothing," she said too quickly.

"Who is this bloke, Granger?" A middle-aged man with protruding belly stretching his bright red shirt stood in her living room. "You have a two person flat, are you taking in lodgers?"

"No, he's just a friend, I would never—"

"Can I help you, Sir?" Draco interrupted her. He was pretty pissed by the way the man was talking to Granger.

"Your girlfriend owes me money," the man said his voice demanding. He was greedily eyeing Draco's apparently expensive clothing. The man scented wealth.

"The rent is just a few days late," Granger tried to explain, but Draco held up a hand to make her shut up.

"How much?"

"Three fifty," her landlord grumbled.

"I'll get the money to you by tomorrow," Draco replied, speaking slow and clear. "I will leave a deposit in case it happens again so I kindly ask you to never bother her again." A promising look told the man all he needed to know about what would happen to him if he overstepped one more time. Her landlord quickly left, still grumbling about how he'd rather do a renovation.

"I didn't know Bell payed you so poorly you can't even afford your measly rent," Draco drawled.

"She doesn't," Granger said, looking crestfallen.

"Then why are you in trouble?"

"It's none of your business!" she suddenly roared. "You don't get to intrude on all aspects of my life! I won't let you!"

"Way to be thankful to the man who just saved your arse." Draco sneered.

"I hope you feel like a fucking hero." She turned away from him, looking out the window.

"Merlin, woman. Are you on your lady days or something?"

She hissed with irritation. "Because that's the only possible reason I could be angry."

He shrugged. "For all I know."

"What do you want, Draco?" she sighed, deflating suddenly as if giving up on something she hadn't cared about much in the first place.

"I'm here to give you some information about the fundraiser you are hosting next week."

She scoffed. "Me? For what? I thought fundraisers were for wealthy people."

"I am wealthy."

"Yeah, but… nevermind. Want some tea?"

"Where's Black?" he asked before committing to staying longer than necessary.

"Sleeping."

"It's the middle of the day."

She hummed in agreement, already bustling in the kitchenette, preparing the same ugly mug with the cheshire cat for him he had drunk from the first time.

"Black has some serious problems," he commented drily.

She didn't answer.

"Didn't you say you gave him opium to get off the booze?"

"No, not anymore."

"Why? Didn't it help?"

"Can't afford the seeds."

"You had no qualms stealing from Bell before. I'm sure you would mind even less now knowing you are essentially stealing from me." Draco leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.

She glowered. "I don't intend to give you anymore leverage over me."

He sighed, rubbing his eyebrow. "You take me way too serious sometimes. I won't get you thrown in prison if that's what you're afraid of." Sometimes he wondered if she really thought him that heartless. Sure, he had hated her guts when they were at school, but he didn't care enough about her now to hold onto that hatred.

He should be content with her black and white image of him, it kept their relationship formal and made it clear where they were standing. As long as she saw in him the evil bastard, she knew that he wouldn't let her off the hook easily, and it would keep her in line.

"You literally force me to support a political system that couldn't be further from my standpoint," she accused.

Draco grinned. "Yeah… forgot about that."

She crossed her arms.

Sighing, he sipped the tea. It was some cheap breakfast tea, certainly nothing like the mint tea he had had the first time at her place. "I'll get you some of your seeds." The carrot and stick approach had always worked well for him. It would make her more agreeable in the long run.

Granger looked like she wanted to protest, not out of courtesy, but like she was fighting against selling her soul to Hades. Draco watched her squirm. Finally, she settled on pressing her lips together, remaining silent.

"You didn't answer why you can't afford your rent," he reminded her. Draco didn't like not knowing things, and he felt like she owed him that information.

Granger apparently didn't share that sentiment as she glared at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "If I am going to invest in you, you could at least give me a reason why it's necessary."

"Sirius spent my salary on alcohol," Granger mumbled into her cup of tea so quickly he nearly missed it.

She seemed ashamed.

Draco decided to go easy on her and changed the topic. "The fundraiser will be held to finance a new research laboratory for St. Mungo's. Theirs is incredibly outdated, so my company will provide all kinds of potions ingredients and equipment. The rest of the money will go to their research projects and the education of new healers."

She looked at him as if she had just taken a bitter pill. "You are holding a fundraiser to pay yourself to give Mungo's a lab? Merlin, can you be any more despicable?"

Draco grinned. "This is exactly the reason why it's you hosting the fundraiser, in my humble home of course."

"You really have no shame." He took incredible delight in the way her face showed apparent distaste at his cunning. It was thrilling to push her further and further; it was like an addiction to make her think the absolute worst of him.


	8. Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I discovered a new word this week: kismet. It's not like I haven't heard or read it before, but I never knew it was an actual word! To me it sounds like some punk rock band name lol.
> 
> Sometimes the English language still surprises me :D If you know more funny sounding words, write them in a review!
> 
> :::::::::::
> 
> Previously:
> 
> "I'm here to give you some information about the fundraiser you are hosting next week. It will be held to finance a new research laboratory for St. Mungo's. Theirs is incredibly outdated, so my company will provide all kinds of potions ingredients and equipment. The rest of the money will go to their research projects and the education of new healers."
> 
> She looked at him as if she had just taken a bitter pill. "You are holding a fundraiser to pay yourself to give Mungo's a lab? Merlin, can you be any more despicable?"

After leaving Granger's flat, Draco immediately went to his solicitor. He didn't like delaying tasks, so he wanted to clear the issue with Granger's flat immediately.

"I have a debt to pay," Draco explained after some small talk.

The man was maybe the only person Draco was completely honest with. He had made him take a vow of course. Draco didn't trust anyone with his secrets. It wasn't something he liked to expose either, but he knew how important it was to clear every juridical problem that could come his way in advance. Full knowledge of his business and private life was essential for his solicitor to work out a plan for every case. He never judged Draco, and he earned good money for his services.

"Unfortunately," Draco continued, "it's in the Muggle world, so you will have to take care of this for me." He instructed his solicitor to create a deposit account for three thousand Muggle Pound.

"I assume this is for Miss Granger?"

Draco nodded.

"May I ask about your intentions…?"

"It's purely business. I use her to keep the press distracted."

"Alright, so there's nothing going to change with your tax status, your Gringotts account or your will?"

"Merlin, no. I don't intend to take it that far." Draco paused. "We will see. I haven't planned on marrying any time soon, but if push comes to shove, I'll need to consider my options I guess."

His solicitor nodded. "You should make a plan. A heir should be in the bigger picture at some point, right?"

Draco contemplated that. He hadn't spared any thoughts on the future of his line and his business yet. He didn't like the idea of sharing his life with anyone. People were judgemental, and most didn't really like him. Draco couldn't live with that in his private life or at least with the meagre hours of the morning and night he had left for himself.

"I will think about that," Draco relented finally.

"Adoption is always an option should you be unable to find the right wife."

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

He solicitor understood and jotted something down with a nod.

"I have one more thing," Draco leaned forward in his seat. "You need to look into a few things for me."

He signed the direct debit authority for his Gringotts bank account and pushed it over the table back to his solicitor.

"I need some information on this issue." Draco put a thick envelope on the table. "This is highly confidential, I trust you to use Obliviate whenever necessary."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy."

"Keep it somewhere for future use. Only hand it out to me personally. Don't let anyone know of the existence of these files. I want to be prepared."

"You want to be able to take them all down with you?"

Draco didn't answer the question. "I'll make sure your home loan is dealt with, if you get some promising information on this case," he said instead, marvelling at the honest joy the man expressed. He knew his solicitor had to deal with a gambling-addicted son that had caused him big trouble financially. When Draco had gotten wind of the dire situation the man had been in regarding his family home, Draco had taken over the loan with the bank. It was always good to have more than contracts and vows binding loyalty.

-o-

Two days before the fundraiser was held, Draco visited Granger with another dress.

"I already have one," she said lamely. He didn't even need to give her a pointed look for her to realise that wearing the same dress she had worn on Beltane simply wasn't an option.

"I expect you to be at the manor at six. Do you want me to pick you up?"

Granger looked as if he had told her to eat dragonhide boots. It took Draco a second to realise that her distaste wasn't about him picking her up.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "Everything will take part outside, just like Beltane. I don't like strangers in my home."

She visibly relaxed, but her distaste of the whole event was clearly bothering her a lot.

Draco explained the procedure, and that she was expected to hold conversations and get the attendees to leave their checks, the higher the better.

"Essentially, I'm your personal cash cow in this whole plot." Her lips were pursed.

Draco sighed. When had Granger started to get cocky with him? She had gotten far too comfortable. Sure, the meek and vulnerable Granger that had begged him for forgiveness on Black's behalf had freaked him out, felt all wrong and off-kilter, but having to deal with this kind of Granger was pure nuisance.

"Get your cloak. I want to show you something," he finally said, watching as she reluctantly put on the same worn cloak he had already started to associate with her. She really should get a new one, Draco thought.

He took her hand and apparated.

Granger flinched violently when they reappeared at the gates of Malfoy Manor.

"Relax, we're not going inside," he said quietly.

Draco led her off the main driveway that was already decorated with white rose bushes for the Thestral carriages to arrive with his guests. They made their way around the estate to the backyard. Granger was noticeably skittish and nervous around the looming manor, and he had to keep himself from taking her hand if only to distract her.

A small "Oh" escaped her at the sight of the meadows stretching off to the right from his winter garden. The May sun enhanced the golden grasses that were mixed with bluebottles and poppies which had just started to bloom.

"You'll get some seeds of those," Draco explained as he watched Granger gazing at the field of poppies. "We had a good harvest last year, and it's better quality than what Bell could ever afford to sell." His elf appeared with a small box with the harvested seeds.

Granger smiled down at the elf. "Thank you." The elf quickly scuttled away with flaming cheeks.

Draco had been worried that Granger might cause him more troubles with the fundraiser, she hadn't been excited about the whole idea in the first place. Now though, he knew that she owed him. The seeds were of high worth to her, after all.

"I didn't expect your garden to look so wild and unkept." She smiled. "I like it."

"Mother loved them," Draco said, looking down at the poppy flowers with something cold encasing his heart. He didn't quite know where the sentiment came from. It was Granger's presence, he suspected. She made him expose himself in ways he had never thought possible. Something about her made it easy to say those things that he wouldn't even allow himself to think otherwise.

She squeezed his hand, and Draco was torn between pulling away, denying himself the comfort and relishing it.

He quickly took her back home after that, excusing himself with business he had to attend to.

-o-

Draco lived by the adage 'keep your friends close and enemies closer', so he had made sure to invite Bletchley and his extended circle of acquaintances even though it caused him physical pain to shake the man's hand.

"What exactly do I have to do again?" Granger asked, her hands flitting over her silver dress as if checking that it wasn't falling apart at the seams. Draco conceded that he could have chosen something more conservative for her, but he enjoyed her discomfort. He didn't bother to tell her that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Her eyes kept wandering towards the silhouette of the manor in the moonlight.

"It's easy, you do a little small talk, ask about their interests and slowly start to point the direction of the conversation towards St. Mungo's. You're witty, you are passionate, you'll do just fine."

"Haha," she said, drily.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. The one time he actually paid her a compliment, she didn't even recognise it as such.

"People like you. So they'll like giving you money. It's as simple as that."

"Oh, now I get why you can't do it yourself."

Draco looked at her, scandalised. For a second, there had been the old Granger, the one that hadn't missed a beat when he had insulted her in their younger years and who had somehow gotten terribly lost after the war.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I get snippy when I'm nervous."

"As long as you are nice to my guests?" He raised his eyebrows. "Although, Nott certainly deserves to get a biting comment or two. Don't hold yourself back when it comes to him."

She snorted, and like a miracle, her tension dissipated once she started to actually greet the guests and talk to them.

At some point, Draco even lost sight of her and actually worried that she had left, too overwhelmed by the whole situation.

He found her a little offside to the gathering, holding an intense discussion with one of the older members of the Wizengamot, explaining to him the implications of Muggle racism and modern day slavery.

Inwardly, Draco groaned, but the man seemed very interested in what she had to say.

A figure coming closer caught Draco's eye.

"Hermione! I see you've met my old friend Charles Whitby," Bletchley said.

It was like a switch had been flipped as Granger simultaneously straightened up and the spark in her eyes died away.

Draco didn't know when his body had made the decision to stand behind Granger and take her arm, but it somehow felt right. "Minister, Mr Whitby, I hope you can excuse the lady for a second?"

"Of course, of course. I'm probably boring her to death with my outdated opinions," the grey-haired Whitby said, and Bletchley just smiled one of his disgusting, slimy smiles.

"Not at all, Mr Whitby. It was a pleasure," Granger said quickly, her tone hushed and her smile guarded.

"Charles to you, my dear." The man shook her hand and then disappeared with Bletchley. "What a lovely young lady," they heard him say to the Minister.

Draco looked down at Granger.

"I don't need you, you know," she said, glaring at Bletchley's retreating back.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not your damsel in distress that you can pretend to save from the clutches of our evil Minister."

Draco was stunned.

She looked up at him and scoffed. "Don't you get on how many levels that is totally wrong, Draco? No? Please, be the hero in your own narrative, but at the end of the day, it's you who is keeping me practically hostage in this—this arrangement with the knowledge that I would do anything to keep Sirius out of prison. I am not going to be thankful just because your instilled chivalry tells you to protect this lovely young lady from harm."

"Listen, Granger. I don't know what got your knickers in a twist, but I am only trying to make this as pleasant for you as possible. I might be the big bad villain in your mind, but I honestly don't care as long as you do what I want."

Her glare could shatter glass.

"Go, powder your nose or whatever, and fix that attitude. I won't tolerate you making this face in front of my guests."

WIthout another comeback, she turned on the spot and stalked off. Draco closed his eyes, exhaled and slowly counted to three, feeling his heartbeat slow down, before going after her.

He was halted by someone he would regret inviting by the end of that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a BIG turning point! I'll try to upload it sometime next week ;)
> 
> Leave a comment, and don't forget to supply me with words that are somehow unusual or funny :D I love to discover new things!


	9. Resentment

“Draco, my dear, trouble in paradise?” She looked after Granger.

Draco felt his jaw clenching and made an effort to work out a smile. He knew he could be dazzling when he wanted to and this situation called for it.

“A healthy relationship comes with ups and downs,” he said, lowering his tone to a hush. “That’s what you always write about, don’t you, Cassandra?” He tilted his head, keeping eye contact.

Columna giggled. “You read the Witch Weekly? I certainly wouldn’t have expected you know any of my articles.” 

“Of course, I know my guests well. I don’t like strangers at my events, it’s more intimate this way, don’t you agree?”

She playfully hit his chest. “You are such a  _ charmeur _ , Draco. Now go and win back your little princess. I have a camera man here, and we want something big for the front page of the next issue.” She winked at him and left.

Draco was relieved that keeping close contact with the press and offering Columna first hand information on current investigations payed off. Still, this put him in a rather unfortunate situation. He knew Columna wanted a story. She wouldn’t hesitate to ruin what he had built with Granger if he couldn’t present her with something better,  _ grander _ . Her promise was a threat. 

He needed to make Granger come back in time for him to make his speech about how much good they were all doing for the world and whatnot with their donations.

Draco found her by the poppy field on the other side of the house.

“Come back, Granger. You’ll finish what you started here.”

“Fuck off.”

Oh, so she wanted to be like that? If she chose that kind of attitude with him, he would be more than happy to follow suit.

“Let me remind you, Granger, that you owe me. The moment you get home tonight, your landlord will have thrown your meager possessions on the street. Your lovely roommate will be taken to prison, and you will be without a job.

For all I care, do what you want with your life, if that is worth the temper tantrum you’re throwing right now.”

She looked at him with so much resent in her eyes that Draco was sure she was imagining poking his eyes out with her wand.

She owed him. How dare she be mad at him for taking what she owed him?

“Behind your facade, you really are devoid of anything genuine or kind. I pity you, Malfoy.”

Behind his facade he was void of anything at all. He had been running like a machine for so long that he didn’t even understand what was so bad about it. He was functioning, unlike Flint fucking anyone but his own wife, unlike Nott getting himself into trouble over his illegal schemes again and again. Unlike Pansy, who he hadn’t seen in two years since she had stopped going out all together.

No one cared for what lay behind the facade as long as the outside fit into their neat little image of the world.

“Got it out of your system now?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Granger looked at him as if he was a lost child, and that look alone gave him the chills. As if something was seriously wrong with him, as if he was somehow incomplete. Draco made a swiping gesture with his hand, indicating her to lead the way.

“After you. And smile,” he reminded her.

He could practically hear her teeth grating, but as soon as she stepped into the crowd, her face was open and friendly again. She was a great actress, he realised.

Draco cast a  _ Sonorus _ at his throat to get the attention of his guests.

“I’m delighted to welcome you to this event. You all know I prefer visiting your parties over organising them myself,” small laughter rose from the crowd, “and I must admit that I wouldn’t have considered holding this fundraiser, had it not been for our lovely hostess today, Hermione Granger.” He presented her, beckoning her to come to his side. His guests clapped as she joined him. Subtly, Draco pulled her closer by putting a hand on her waist. “St. Mungo’s is and has always been an important pillar of our society. We should all strive to do what we can for those in need. Thank you all for contributing to this.”

He waited for the applause to ebb away and looked at Granger, indicating her to speak up.

She plastered on a smile that looked quite fake to him, but the light was dim, and he knew nobody else would see the flicker in the corner of her mouth.

“I have spoken with some representatives of St. Mungo’s tonight, and their plans for the future of England’s largest medical facility will benefit all of us in so many ways. We should all thank Draco for making this possible.” Her voice was a little breathy, but the crowd liked her. Something about Granger was charismatic and honest in a way that made her irresistible. 

“Anything for you,” Draco said in response to her faked expression of gratitude. Granger’s gaze wavered for a moment as she looked up at him, and he was sure he saw a glimmer of alarm when she realised what he was about to do.

It was a game, nothing but a play for the masses. It served its purpose, cold and calculating. He leaned down, his hand coming up to her jaw, tilting it just the right way before his lips touched hers.

It was a pure, chaste kiss that was over as soon as the flash of the cameras had gone off.

The feeling lingered.

His guests—especially the female ones—seemed delighted. 

Granger didn’t move, her head tilted down so her hair was obscuring her face. She had decided to keep it down for the occasion, only pinning one side back.

“I’d like to invite you all to dance,” Draco announced, and the band started playing on cue. People quickly went back to their conversations again or started dancing in pairs. 

Draco pulled Granger along to the dance floor, guiding her to the tempo of a slow waltz. He would have expected her to be angry, to barely be able to suppress that fiery nature of hers to not lash out, but her eyes were empty, her face impassive.

Granger didn’t engage in any conversations after that, and he quickly decided to excuse her and escort her home.

She didn’t wait for him to return with the cloak he had bought for her so she wouldn’t turn up with her worn one. When he arrived at the gates where he had told her to wait for him, she was no longer there. Draco found himself lingering for a moment before he called his elf to take the cloak to her home.

Draco didn’t enjoy the rest of the event after that. Drinking a few glasses of champagne made conversing with his guests bearable, but he was altogether glad when they had finally left, allowing him to send a plastered Flint home with one of his elfs to make sure he didn’t splinch himself while apparating.

-o-  


The next day, Draco woke with a massive headache. Not because he had been drunk, but because something inside of him gave him no rest. His brain was replaying the moment he had pulled Granger closer over and over. The look in her eyes, her paralysed body against his, her shock-parted lips…

The whole situation gave him a squeamish feeling. He wanted to rinse his brain with soap, to obliviate himself to get rid of it. It was unpleasant to think about the moment even though he knew it had been necessary. Yet his mind seemed to want to torture him with it over and over again.

He decided that he needed relief, something to clear his head, to have a blissful moment of peace. Draco stepped into his shower, closing his eyes as he tilted his head towards the stream. He tried to think of everything and nothing.

He recalled Pansy visiting him at the Black residence in France when he had fled the press at the end of war. He had gone through a lot of trouble to get clearance from the Ministry to leave the country. They had insisted on placing him under a constant location charm so he couldn’t run away. That had been after his trial, he had been declared fucking innocent, and still they had treated him like a combat dog that needed a leash and a muzzle.

He had been so angry that he had burned all the family portraits that had reminded him of his mother. She had been everywhere, looking at him with those tortured eyes, reminding him that he hadn’t saved her. Her own husband had finally relieved her of her pain when she had been lying barely alive between the debris of what was left of Hogwarts after the battle. Her torso had been maimed by a giant acromantula that hadn’t stopped their foray with the Dark Lord’s death.

_ Avada Kedavra _ had been a deliverance from the pain his mother had suffered. She hadn’t even screamed, only silent tears had leaked from her eyes as she had looked into his, begging Draco to end it.

He had been too weak to fulfil that last wish, had been so fucking useless. His father had stepped forward, cast the curse, and the light in her eyes, still locked onto his, had died.

Lucius hadn’t said a word, had just put his hand on Draco’s arm and had pulled him close. The man had had a heart of ice, but when his mother had died, it had been warm enough to hold his son and let him cry at his shoulder like a child.

Draco dragged his hand down his face, grunting as he urged his mind to go back to Pansy instead. She had suddenly stood in his entrance with two suitcases carried by elves and claimed that she hated the London weather and needed a holiday. They had fucked so much those two weeks that Draco hardly remembered doing anything else.

He pictured her breasts, how they had felt, how they had bounced, how her skin had tasted. Feeling himself growing hard, he relished in the emptiness that claimed his overthinking mind and took over like an instinct.

The moment he had finished himself off, Granger invaded his thoughts again. Her eyes, her lips, her warm hand in his as they gazed across the field of poppy flowers.

Draco groaned and turned off the heat so he was doused with ice cold water. He wouldn’t allow himself to go down that road. One wank was enough, and he certainly wouldn’t start wanking to Granger next. It was ridiculous, as if his randy teenage self had time-travelled into his adult body and taken over, getting hot at a mere touch of lips.

It was an irritating itch that followed him till the end of the day. It was driving him so mad that he shouted at his poor house-elf for nearly twenty minutes when it had confessed that Granger had overly politely kicked it out, throwing the cloak it had been ordered to bring her right after it.

At some point, Draco realised that Granger wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of ever seeing him again after what he had pulled off to save his (and her!) face.

It was a meagre relief when Columna send him a pre-printed version of the Witch Weekly that had their kiss printed all over the front and a three-page article with all kinds of speculation whether he had gotten her pregnant and why there still was no ring on her hand.

The tabloids disgusted Draco, but seeing a similar article in The Prophet relieved him simultaneously as he knew the whole charade hadn’t been for naught and had served his plan to distract from the real political issues.

Diversion made the public tame as a house cat. They loved the superficial stories he fed them. Everyone liked stories. It was a relief from the harsh reality that refused to make sense, that refused to be pressed into a narrative one could understand.

Now it was his job to keep that story going, to feed the media machine with more and more until it was surfeited and moved on to the next story.

He needed to pay Granger a visit, as much as it pained him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh! First kiss AND first smut-ish scene in ONE CHAPTER! :D You don't know how hard it is to write about sb wanking without it sounding really weird and rediculous lol. Let me know how you liked it!
> 
> Big thanks to my betas Nora, KSB and MyWeirdWorld!


	10. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> It was a meagre relief when Columna send him a pre-printed version of the Witch Weekly that had their kiss printed all over the front and a three-page article with all kinds of speculation whether he had gotten her pregnant and why there still was no ring on her hand.
> 
> He needed to pay Granger a visit, as much as it pained him.

Draco contemplated visiting Granger at work. It was a public space, it was safe. She wouldn't be able to make a scene there.

But when he stood in front of Bell's Lab, he saw her dealing with an obviously difficult customer, a tall, dark-skinned man that talked insistently with her. She was clearly agitated.

Draco decided that it was bad manners to disturb her at her workplace after all, especially when she was having a hard day. Instead, he apparated to her home.

After his initial knock, the door was opened and closed again within the blink of an eye. "Get lost, she doesn't want to see you," he heard Black hollering from the other side of the door. He was clearly drunk.

Draco clenched and unclenched his fist. He could deal with an angry Granger, he could deal with Granger hexing him, but he couldn't deal with this silent treatment. She hadn't answered any of his letters asking for a meeting, had refused the cloak he had bought for her. What did that woman want?

He refused to back down and let himself in with an _Alohomora_ to wait for her inside her flat.

Black had settled at the table. His hair was long, brushed back into a ponytail. A few strands had come loose, framing his hollow cheeks. Granger seemed to keep him dressed and clean. She really was taking care of a dog, Draco surmised. The man barely looked up when he entered.

He looked desolate. His shoulders were slumped, his hands cradling a glass of amber liquid, one hand covering the fingers of the other as if giving himself comfort while holding onto the alcohol like an anchor.

"She says you're only nice to her because you pity her, because you feel bad for how you treated her when you went to school," Black spoke. "She doesn't show it, but she still has an opinion, you know? You silenced her, but she still is the same intelligent witch she was before."

"Shut up, Sirius!"

Draco turned, finding Granger in the door.

"I'm sorry about him. He had too much already. I'll be with you in a moment, Draco." He was surprised how casual she sounded. He had expected her to be furious at him for invading her home. Draco had counted on that. The way she brushed aside his presence as if it was a normal thing, threw him off track. He hadn't prepared for this.

His gaze followed her as she shrugged off her old cloak and disappeared into the adjacent room to change out of her work uniform. When the door had closed behind her, he leaned down towards Black even though it disgusted him to be near the man.

"You think it's _me_ that made her like this? You're quite wrong, Black. It's _you_. She is like this to keep your sorry arse from going back to prison. She's sold herself just to get you out, and now every waking minute she's constantly afraid that you'll go back to Azkaban if she so much as steps out of line. It's all about you, Black. You are her downfall. You are her prison. It would be best for her if you left, so she can be free again."

Black didn't answer, just lifted his glass and downed it in one go.

Draco sneered, he couldn't even muster pity for the man.

Granger came back out of her room, wearing a light jumper. She looked at Black pouring himself another glass and sighed.

"Let's go for a walk?" she asked Draco.

It was already starting to get dark outside, but Draco was glad to have an excuse to get out of her depressing flat. He'd probably start drinking too if he had to live there.

She showed him to a little park nearby. It had huge patches of grass missing and the remaining green was more moss than anything else.

There were sinister figures sitting under the trees. Draco held onto his wand in his pocket.

"I'm sorry about the other day," she said before he could get out what he so desperately wanted to say. Immediately, something inside of him deflated. Why did Granger make it so easy for him? It somehow felt as if she was keeping him behind a line, as if she was denying him to surpass himself and be decent towards her for once.

She looked tired.

"You really should put up wards on your flat. It was far too easy getting inside," he said to fill the void her apology had left.

She shrugged. "It's not worth it."

"Not worth it?"

"There's nothing to steal anyhow, and Bletchley had his men break in too many times to keep count. If the door was warded, they'd just break down the whole wall, and I'd have to obliviate my landlord and all neighbours again."

Draco stared at her, trying to process how she was sounding like she had just talked about going to the market to buy some vegetables.

"So, what's up next? Any more events you want me to attend?" she asked. Something in her voice was strained and overly casual.

"No."

She looked at him, gutted. "See, if this about me being irrational at the fundraiser, I'm really sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

Something wasn't right here. "Why are you suddenly so eager to do this?"

She opened and closed her mouth, then buried her hands in her pockets staring at the way ahead of them. It had gotten dark and Draco wished he could use a _Lumos_. Unfortunately, the Muggles would be freaked out by that.

"I just… like the food?"

Draco scoffed. What did she take him for?

"Try again."

She suddenly took his hand and pulled him to a stand to turn towards her. "I'll do anything. Just don't make me homeless, please. I'd lose my job, and who would take care of Sirius?"

"He's an adult, you know?" Draco pulled his hand from hers. He didn't want her to touch him. She was distracting. He had barely been able to think straight these last few days, always fretting over how to approach her. He couldn't afford to let his guard down. Especially not around her.

She kicked a pebble, clearly frustrated. "Are you going to make me beg even more? I've already humiliated myself enough, don't you think?"

"It's always entertaining to watch." He grinned evilly, but his smile faded when she continued to walk without reacting to his teasing.

He followed her. "If you like the food so much at the events, you'll be delighted to know that I'm officially taking you out tomorrow."

"Coffee again?"

"Dinner."

"Oh." She smiled. "That sounds nice."

Then she giggled. It was a strange sound in the depressing darkness of that sordid Muggle park.

"It's funny, isn't it?"

"What?"

"You and me. On a date. Who would have thought?"

He cleared his throat. "It's certainly not a date."

"Not a real one, but still…"

"Call it what you like," he sighed. "But I don't intend to be mugged tonight so let's leave this bloody drughole."

She looked around. "It really is bad, isn't it? You get used to anything, I suppose."

Hearing that from her mouth made him incredibly sad. Draco wanted to shake the feeling off, but it lingered even after he had left her on her doorstep and apparated back to the manor.

* * *

"You ready?" Draco waited at her doorstep as Granger gathered her hair in a bun. It was messy, wild curls spilling out everywhere, but somehow it looked just right for the dress he had sent her that morning.

"Yes, sorry. I'm a mess. Sirius hasn't shown up since yesterday, and I fear that he is lying in some gutter, totally wasted and probably mugged."

That was when Draco noticed the tell tale bottle of Firewhiskey still sitting on her table, only half empty and deserted.

"He does that often?" Draco wasn't actually interested, it was more that Granger seemed to want to talk about her drunkard of a roommate.

"Whenever I get my paycheck." She sighed. "But usually he leaves his wand behind. Can't lose that, right? Didn't take any money either. I'm worried he's finally drank away his last brain cell."

She spoke in a casual way, but there was a jitter in her eyes that told Draco that she was clearly worried.

"Come," he said. "Let me take your mind off your troubles for a while."

"Why? So nice of you." She smiled, so much smiling lately, what was up with her? "You're becoming a real gentleman. What's brought this change about?"

"I feel you are much easier to deal with when I'm being polite."

"Indeed." She chuckled. "So what's for dinner?" Granger took his arm, and he apparated them.

"French cuisine of course," he replied as they landed in front of one of the busier places in the parallel road of Diagon Alley.

Draco didn't like the Marseille much. It had way too much fish on its menu for his taste and privacy was hard to find in the busy dining area. But it was the right place to go and be seen, and he certainly intended the latter for them.

"Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger. Welcome to the Marseille!" The owner greeted them with a warm handshake. "I have a special table for you two. Follow me, please."

Draco nodded for Granger to go first, following right behind as they waded between the tables where people were already sitting, drinking wine and having mussels. They were turning some heads, which Draco counted as a win.

People still seemed to be overly curious to see them going out together, which was just splendid. He could probably go on with this for a few more months without it getting boring for the public.

They ordered their food, Draco selected the wine and instructed the waitress to keep anything fishy off his plates for good measure.

"No fish, huh?"

"It's slimy and disgusting," he said.

She snorted. "You sound like a child refusing to eat its broccoli."

"I'm very much an adult," he emphasised, "and I can make my own choices about what I want to eat and what not. That is one of the few upsides to growing up, after all."

"Ah, yeah… with the downside of all the other shit—sorry," she covered her mouth with a giggle. "I should probably not be using this language here. Sirius is teaching me new bad words every day."

"I cast a privacy spell," Draco said.

"Oh?"

"No need to be _that_ public about our arrangement."

"True, true. So I could call you a giant tosser and none of the people around us would be any wiser?"

"Excuse me?"

"Gah, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry, Draco. Haven't gone on a date since—well, Slughorn's Christmas party I suppose."

"That's just sad, Granger."

"Not as sad as still calling your date by her last name," she said under her breath when the food arrived.

She welcomed the wine and took a huge gulp.

"Have you been drinking?" Draco asked, suddenly making sense of her strange behavior.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "Is my presence that unbearable?"

"Sometimes." She snorted. She was a happy drunk, but also one with a loose tongue.

"I'll take that," Draco said and moved the wine glass away from her. "Eat something to dull it at least."

"I'm sorry about this. I thought it would calm me down, but it's not really helping." She frowned at her fork.

"Try to look like you enjoy it. I don't care what you talk about as long as people think you're having a gay old time," Draco said with an eye roll that he disguised by taking a sip from her confiscated wine glass.

"Yeah, it's what the outsiders see that matters, isn't it?"

She dug in, relishing in the Bourride with Lemon Aioli. At least she had a healthy hunger, Draco supposed, frowning at how much she seemed to like the fish. He wondered why she was so agitated about Black having left. Shouldn't it be a relief for her?

"Do you ever visit your father?" she suddenly asked, completely throwing him off track.

"No," Draco said, carefully. He picked a little at his baked camembert with balsamic caramelised onions, suddenly losing all appetite.

"Oh, I thought you might, but I understand why you wouldn't. I'm not sure if I could bear it either."

"It is not a matter of enduring the sight, I simply see no purpose. My father is dead."

"He's still there, though. You can never know if there is a part of his soul left, he might still feel something deep down."

Draco scoffed. "If that were the case, he'd be mortified at his situation and wish for his death as soon as possible."

"It's sad, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Not being able to properly mourn a parent. You know they are still alive somehow, somewhere, so you can never let go completely."

He contemplated that, but he wasn't sure if he understood the meaning behind her words. She was quiet for the rest of the evening, distant and melancholic. He couldn't deal with a depressed Granger, so he took her home early.

She'd need a good apology to make up for that. He didn't think that anyone around them had noticed how off she had been that night, but she had still risked a lot there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas Nora Fares, MyWeirdWorld and KoolStoryBro!


	11. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> "It's sad, isn't it? Not being able to properly mourn a parent. You know they are still alive somehow, somewhere, so you can never let go completely."
> 
> He contemplated that, but he wasn't sure if he understood the meaning behind her words. She was quiet for the rest of the evening, distant and melancholic. He couldn't deal with a depressed Granger, so he took her home early.

Draco had a stressful day at the Ministry.

Bletchley had instructed him to get rid of a few problems his friends had been accused of. This was the kind of work that disgusted Draco the most. In this corrupt political machine, everyone did their own misdemeanor simply to stay afloat, but some of the offences he had to deal with on Bletchley's orders were anything but minor.

He didn't know what exactly he was getting rid off, he just knew it was insanely difficult to access those files. Draco sighed, rubbing his eyebrow as he made his way to the Auror office to request them and the needed forms he had to fill to get the offences removed.

Removing reports from personnel files was a bureaucratic nightmare, but nothing Draco couldn't accomplish. Pulling all records from the Auror's office, he flipped through them, but they had been completely blackened and spelled to only be legible by highly classified investigators. It would raise too many questions if Draco demanded classification for this case, so he was left to simply take the unreadable records.

He wouldn't let this opportunity pass by however. Those files would probably make for great blackmail material, and one never knew when such material was needed. So he went to the archives in the catacombs where only few Ministry workers ever descended to.

It took him half an hour of rifling through filing cards and then rows and rows of folders. Finally, he found what he had been looking for, and without thought, he flipped it open.

Horror coiled in his stomach, and Draco had to brace himself against the shelf. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to make sense of the pictures that had been tacked on top of the investigation.

This particular friend of Minister Bletchley seemed unable to keep his fingers to himself when it came to children.

Draco swallowed, swaying slightly on his feet, and wondered if the world had always been such a dark place, or if it was still the lingering aftertaste of war that corrupted the souls of formerly decent and respectable people.

It certainly had corrupted him. One had to adapt, everything else meant being crunched between the gears of power and greed. But some horrors still shook him to the core, and the unnecessary violence and perversity of this was beyond… just beyond.

What would he do?

He decided that the archives were not the place to read those files and shrank them to hide them in his pockets. On his way out, he made sure to take the filing card with him so no one else would find what he held in his hand, buried deep into his pocket. Draco wasn't sure what exactly his plan was. There was something deeply unsettling about knowing that such a person would go free and with inputy.

Reaching the Auror office, Draco came upon a familiar face.

She was standing at the desk of one of the clerks answering to citizens' needs and receiving complaints directly. Her chair was pushed back, and she seemed clearly agitated.

"Please leave right now, Miss, or I'll call security to forcefully remove you," the man sitting at the desk threatened.

"Just, please tell me what I can do. Can't I fill in some kind of form to report him missing?"

The man's finger was hovering dangerously above the bell there for alerting the Ministry security staff, so Draco found himself forced to intervene.

"Hermione," he said, his voice sounding strained even to him. "Let me show you out." He took her by the arm, nearly dragging her away while ignoring her protests.

"But—no, I have to—"

"Hush, you'll get yourself in trouble."

She harrumphed and twisted her arm free of his grip, but followed him to the exit from where he apparated them directly to her flat.

"What were you thinking? Do you want them to report you? Here I thought you were in enough trouble with Black and all."

"He's still gone."

Draco paused. So Black had finally decided to leave this hell of a life behind. He had left Granger behind too, alone in this hostile word. "Good for you," he grunted. "You're finally rid of the freeloader."

She growled. "Fuck you."

Walking up and down, she tangled her fingers in her hair, tearing at it in frustration. "What if something happened with him? What if—what if they took him back to Azkaban without telling me?" She looked at him, desperate, and as if he knew all the answers. "I thought if I only went to the Auror office... but they didn't even hear me out!"

He watched her covering her face, desperately trying to calm her breath.

"That's ridiculous. Why would they suddenly arrest him?" he asked. "What's this with Black and you anyhow? Are you an item?"

"Wha—no, gods, no. I take care of him. He has no one left, you know... they all, in the battle they all—" she choked on the words. "When it was over, he was arrested by the Ministry. He still hadn't been cleared of being wrongly accused for what Pettigrew had done and just went to Azkaban along with all the—"

"The Death Eaters," he supplied.

"Y-yes. He didn't even know… when he finally got out, he didn't even know that Harry had died too." A tear leaked from her eye. "The first thing he got to see when they let him out was the horrid statue in the Ministry. And he asked me how they had gotten Harry to agree to them to put it up. He even, he laughed at how ridiculously big it is." More tears ran down her cheeks, chasing each other until they caught in her wild hair.

And she was gasping for air now, her movements growing frantic as she fisted the ends of her sleeves.

"Merlin, Granger. Sit down. Breathe."

"I miss him so much, Draco. I-I miss Harry and Ron and Remus and Ginny, the twins and all the others. It hurts, why doesn't it ever stop hurting?"

"Calm down. Here." He summoned a tissue for her and gently pressed down her onto a chair.

She fought her tears for a while. Draco helplessly kneeled in front of her. Somehow, his hand had come to rest on her knee, and his thumb was drawing small circles.

It's only to calm her down, he told himself.

After a while, she finally quieted, a small sigh escaping her lips, when her breathing grew deeper again.

"Do you ever think about them? Your friends?" She wiped her eyes and looked at him openly. Her cheeks were red, her hands still trembling faintly.

"What friends?" he asked.

"Crabbe and Goyle, do you still think about how—"

"No," he interrupted her, withdrawing his hand from her knee and leaning back.

"They didn't deserve it, you know. We should have tried to save them as well, but the fire was just so high. I wish we could—I wish…"

"They are dead, there's nothing to change that, Granger." He hated talking about this. Why did she always have to cut so deep with her questions? Couldn't they discuss the weather instead like normal people?

Vince and Greg had been an accident. They hadn't meant to be there in the Room of Requirement with him. But he had feared that he wouldn't stand a chance against Potter and his band if he went after them alone. So he had run to fetch Vince and Greg when all others had fled from the battle and coerced them to go back with him. Maybe they would still be alive if it hadn't been for him that day.

Draco got up from his crouched position, nervously wiping his hands on his trousers. "Are you done crying?" he asked, irritated.

She nodded with a small smile. First crying and now smiling? Why did she smile at him? He would never understand her.

"He'll… He'll come back, I'm sure," Draco said, unconvinced that they would even see a stray hair of Black. "At some point, he'll need your money, right?"

She nodded, but her eyes were cast down at the tissue she was holding with both hands as if she wanted to tear it apart.

"I can do a little research in the Ministry records." Draco had no idea where that had come from, but now that it was out of his mouth, he could hardly take the promise back. "But you mustn't just barge into the Auror office again. If they deem your case irrelevant and you still keep pestering them, they'll get you in serious trouble."

"Thank you," she said, wiping her nose again.

* * *

Draco knew his search would be fruitless. Black had probably gotten himself killed on the streets of Muggle London or fallen into River Thames after having one too many. For all he knew, Granger should be glad to be rid of him. She'd finally be able to get her own life in order.

At the same time, Draco realised that with Black out of the picture, his leeway over her had been significantly decimated. It potentially threatened his whole plot. He'd have to keep her on a leash with empty promises of finding Black for her with his connections in the Ministry and the resources he had at hand.

Draco made regular visits, assuring her that he was looking into it, sometimes telling her that there had been a sighting, but kept it vague. She was grateful, but gradually, he noticed a change in her that was altogether worrying. She seemed as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders; her walk was more upright, her smile—while still dulled by worry—somehow brighter at the same time. He found himself strangely conflicted between marvelling at seeing more of her older self with each passing day, and the wish to keep her subdued, to keep her dependent.

Nearly a month passed without a trace of Black. A month with regular outings. He took her dining, tried to convince her to go shopping in Diagon Alley which ended in her hiding away in Flourish and Blotts for a whole hour.

Draco found that he liked talking to Granger. She was a good listener, she was clever and curious, asking about details that others would deem boring.

They somehow had settled into a comfortable routine of him picking her up, asking about her day and her asking about his in return as they went to a destination he had picked for them to go out. He hadn't had someone ask about his day in a long time. It opened something in him up, slowly and with screaming protest like the hinges of a rusty old birdcage, but she pried with patience until he felt as if his mind was wide open to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my betas Nora Fares (who will hopefully finish ehr stories too at some point and not just waste her time reading all my crap :D), KoolStoryBro and Myweirdworld (thank you for reading through the whole story and leaving so many helpful comments! I hope you liked it :3 )
> 
> I'm in a phase at the moment where I want to do everything but edit this story :'D Like I'm super lazy, doing the bare minimum to keep up with updates. I really should finish the editing at some point D;
> 
> Good news: chapters will get a little longer, I know the last ones were super short. There's a mega chapter on its way!


	12. Insanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on this chapter:
> 
> Inspiration taken from the poem THE BOOK OF THE SEDUCER.
> 
> Louis Loucheur was the French Minister of Labour, Hygiene, Welfare Work, and Social Security Provisions 1928–1930, the description in this story is true to his actual appearance (you can see him on Wikipedia).
> 
> The opera singer, Renata Tebaldi (1st February 1922 – 19th December 2004), was a famous Italian opera singer who has been said to have possessed one of the most beautiful voices of the 20th century (Information from Wikipedia).
> 
> o.O.o
> 
> Previously:
> 
> Nearly a month passed without a trace of Black.
> 
> Draco found that he liked talking to Granger. She was a good listener, she was clever and curious, asking about details that others would deem boring.
> 
> It opened something in him up, slowly and with screaming protest like the hinges of a rusty old birdcage, but she pried with patience until he felt as if his mind was wide open to her.

  


* * *

Outside, the summer air had been stifling, but to everybody's relief, they had cast cooling charms inside the entrance hall of the opera house. Conservative dress code meant just a few more layers than was comfortable in the heat of mid June.

Granger's hair was partially braided, with one side pulled from her face and the other flowing along her neck in soft curls. He wondered what it would feel like to tangle his fingers in her hair, to pull her head back and make her look up at him.

Of course she was usually forced to look up at him considering her smaller frame, but to pull her close and make her crane that long neck of hers would give him a seductive power over her.

Her dress flowed long and elegant. He decided to never let her wear anything but blue anymore. In all its shades, it was the colour that suited her the most. Even though the one she was dressed in now—a navy blue—was far too conservative for his tastes. Her shoulders were covered with the cape of her cloak, two long slits in the front for her arms allowing only limited movement. At least that made her hold onto him for most of the time. He thought about how she would radiate in turquoise colors or if jade had too many green undertones to fit her warm skin tone. But green would suit her complexion as well, he was sure of it.

Draco realised that his brain was compensating the immense boredom he felt by thinking about drivel like that. He so disliked the opera, but what choice did he have? It had been the only way to get some very important people to Portkey all the way over to Britain.

It was the one occasion where everyone dragged out their most demure dresses and robes to show off how proper and sophisticated they were. It stood in stark contrast to the excessive parties the witches and wizards around him usually liked to attend at every occasion possible where necklines fought over every inch that could be on display without being too daring. Here, some of the witches had draped shawls across their décolleté when they usually pranced around almost bare-breasted at other events.

Draco found that while he would have liked to dress Granger up like some doll, he was quite glad that she would never let him give her a dress like those. She had enough taste and self-worth to not parade around like a slut.

He regarded her. She could definitely outshine some of the witches in his social circle if she chose to. Maybe it was the way she was deliberately trying not to stand out while all the others piled up their hair in elaborate hairdos, put on glittering jewels until they looked like a chandelier and enhanced their features with so many beauty spells it made their skin glow faintly. Granger looked pleasantly… normal in comparison. And that made her enticing. The tiny freckles on her nose were visible, her hair was just a little on the wild and untamed side, her lips unpainted and natural. It simply made her look real, beautiful among a crowd of artificial glamour. What should have made her seem pale and unremarkable, made her stand out all the brighter instead. Surely all heads must be turning her way wherever she moved in this room.

Unexpectedly, Granger caught his gaze, and for a fraction of a second, a smile lightened her face. Nothing more than a reflex, but that in itself made the expression so honest and _real_. It was something that couldn't be faked, and what he had weeks ago interpreted as contempt twitching at the corner of her lips was now something warm and inviting.

Draco gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement, and led her towards the bar where he ordered them drinks. His hands felt warm when they usually were cool, and he was embarrassingly aware of Granger standing close to him. It was still a while until the opera performance would start, and he was thirsty, _so thirsty_. The champagne didn't relieve him, and the sparkles just tickled his nose as he surveyed the crowd, distracting himself from that small smile of hers.

He spotted Louis Loucheur with his wife, just the person he had hoped would show up. The man was well-rounded and sported an impressive mustache which was twirled artfully at the ends. Draco leaned in close to Granger as if to peck her on the cheek. She tensed, but he barely brushed a lock of her hair that had come loose as he whispered in her ear.

"I will have a chat with the _Ministre de la santé_ , and I need you to keep quiet and entertain the wife. Stay out of our conversation, I want to hear none of your opinions."

Granger's lips thinned a miniscule amount, and he leaned in a little closer still. "And if you don't wipe that annoyed look off your face, I'll kiss you again."

Her hand came up to his chest as if to hold him back, but she nodded, took a deep breath and then smiled sweetly. Draco very nearly cringed as he was sharply reminded of Dolores Umbridge and her fake smiles.

He subtly pushed Granger towards Louis Loucheur's wife. She looked Italian, elegant and even the first strands of grey hair didn't take from the majesty she radiated. Draco remembered that the woman had some distant traces of royal blood, but all her demeanor was a facade—she was a mere jewel for her husband to show off.

" _Ministre_ ," Draco greeted the man next to the regal woman with a clasp of hands. In contrast to his wife, the French Minister of Health seemed just like the newly-rich plebeian he was—thanks to his swift political advance. His belly was rounded under his waistcoat, his thick skull looked nearly bald with his fair hair gelled across it. "It is great seeing you here. I'm honoured that you accepted my invitation."

"I wouldn't miss the great Renata Tebaldi. She is one of Melinda's favourite singers." Loucheur said jovially, introducing his wife. His French accent was only light for which Draco was thankful. It gave him a headache and always reminded him of the half-Veela girl from Beauxbatons that had asked him to invite her to the Yule Ball in their fourth year so she could shine next to her older sister. He had been flattered until he had found out that she had singled him out after Blaise had already turned her down. The kick to his ego still remained, and Draco had sworn off French women after that. He knew he was petty, but he allowed himself that flaw.

Draco briefly took Melinda Loucheur's hand and then introduced Granger to them. Elaborate greeting rituals, repeated over and over again at every event—it was a tedious, never ending charade. Not very efficient when it came to talking business, but necessary to uphold the facade of a civilised society.

"I have heard of your story, Hermione," the woman said. "I have had a few juvenile adventures of my own. I do hope though that you have left those dangerous times behind?"

Her voice had a staccato tone, and she rolled the 'r' dramatically. Her Italian descent was more than apparent and her English broken. To his surprise, Granger actually managed a few Italian words, and then they switched to French. From his basic understanding of the language, Draco understood, that Granger was more adept at French than her rudimentary Italian, and she was thankful to have found someone with whom she could practice her rusty skills.

Content that Granger was able to hold a proper conversation with the woman, he focused solely on the _Ministre_.

"I must admit that my invitation to you and your wife was not solely selfless," he allowed. "I have heard of the recent outbreaks of Dragon Pox in Paris."

The _Ministre's_ face turned serious. "I already expected our conversation would touch on this, I certainly am glad you addressed the subject first. It really isn't something to ignore for an entire evening before finally discussing it in some backroom."

Draco relaxed a little. He had done his research and knew that Louis Loucheur preferred the head-on approach when it came to political matters.

"I understand that your situation is dire," he put a hand to Loucheur's shoulder and turned him away from the crowd. They were half behind one of the magnificent marvel pillars which offered some sort of privacy.

Draco contemplated whether he should make his offer first or give away his insider knowledge immediately. He decided on the latter.

"The French Ministry has lost control of their little experiment, my sources told me."

"I don't like how much you seem to know about this, Monsieur Malfoy."

Draco smiled. That particular piece of information had been worth every sack of Galleons he'd had to pay for it. "You don't have to like me to accept my solution. You will also secure your secrets to stay safe if your government makes a deal with me."

Loucheur wasn't happy, but he was a politician through and through, and losing a debate was part of the job. He twirled his moustache. " _Bien_. We will do this. Send me your contamination plan and an estimation of costs. I will get back to you by the end of the week. We don't have more time to wait. The situation might get out of control."

"Certainly," Draco said, pleased. A deal with the French government would make his NGO one of the top companies in Northern Europe.

Loucheur declared their conversation closed by taking his wife by her arm and excusing her form Granger.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Granger stared after the French-Italian pair in faint annoyance.

Draco regarded her. "What has gotten your knickers in a twist this time?"

"I just can't believe this woman. Asked me if I have left my 'adolescent adventures' behind to finally live a proper life—which, according to her, means taking care of my future husband's household and bear his children and definitely doesn't include holding down a job or discussing politics."

"That's just how it is. It's how she grew up, how can you fault her for being raised like that?" he commented. The comment about a 'future husband' made him a bit squeamish, but he couldn't quite pin down why. Maybe it was just too ridiculous to imagine Granger ever settling down with anyone. Who would want someone like her, really? Only that wasn't true. And Draco knew it for something in him told him that—at least on a primal level— _he_ wanted her. It was something he'd need to accept. Nothing more but a superficial attraction that had developed over time. It was to be expected, he told himself. It was natural for their pretending to becoming real to some degree.

Granger glared at him. "You are no better than her. 'Entertain the wife, and stay out of the conversation'," she mimicked him. "I'm not some brainless bimbo you can order around."

He felt his cheeks redden. Why did she always have to point out his faults? "I didn't want you to interfere with my business. I could care less if you want to discuss politics and whatnot."

"Except you keep me from doing exactly that."

Draco glowered. "When this is over, you can apply for the Minister's position for all I care, but as long as I need you, you will not interfere or do anything that can affect my image."

Granger already opened her mouth to object again.

"This discussion is tiring," Draco interrupted her. "The show is about to start."

Since Black had run off, she had gotten more outspoken and daring. As if she had nothing left to lose. Except, why would she continue this charade with him if that were the case?

Deep down, Draco knew she didn't really care about the small flat or her job. Black was out of the picture, so he couldn't hold a possible arrest over her head either. So there must be something else keeping her by his side. Maybe, just maybe, she enjoyed these evenings. After all, he could offer her elaborate spectacles, conversations with interesting people, fancy food and glorious dresses. Everything a woman could want. Only he knew that Granger wasn't a woman like that. Not at all. So what did she gain from this?

"Mr Malfoy, Sir," A house-elf with a lop-sided bow-tie crafted out of what seemed to be a paper-handkerchief bowed deeply in front of them as they entered the theatre along with the other guests. "Let me show you to your seats. We has reserved the usual balcony for our generous benefactor."

Granger stiffened but remained quiet to his relief. He really didn't want her to cause a scene about house-elf treatment in the middle of the theatre. But he couldn't prevent her from thanking the house-elf after they had settled on the family balcony just across the stage.

They were seperated from the other balconies by a semi-transparent folding screen that only showed silhouettes moving on the other side. Draco relaxed for the first time this evening as he surveyed the plebeian crowd below them.

With Granger at his side, he grew anxious that she might get a little too daring and display her fiery nature in front of an audience that they were expected to keep their image of being a happy couple up for. She had grown bold around him these last few weeks. He certainly let too many of her transgressions pass.

The lights darkened.

Suddenly, Draco had the feeling that he shouldn't be here, that _they_ shouldn't be here. Not alone, in a dark room with her close, _so_ close.

He heard her gasp when the stage lightened, and she leaned forward over the banister.

Dramatic music filled the room accompanied by long, sorrowful cries of an Augurey. Rain pitter-pattered onto the stage, falling from the ornate ceiling of the theatre only to dissolve just before hitting the audience.

The shy bird was hidden behind a thin veil with a light from behind projecting its majestic shadow onto it like a mourning ghost.

A witch trio emerged from the fog that had filled the stage and started to seep down between the first rows of the audience seats. The women's eyes were enhanced and they were bewitched to look hauntingly beautiful as they chimed in with the cries of the Augurey, contrasting it with harsh tones that caused the bird behind the veil to flap his wings in distress. All the while, the rain poured on, dissolving into more fog as it hit the ground.

"Merlin, that is a real Augurey," he heard Granger breathe.

"They pride themselves with the creatures complementing their orchestra," Draco explained.

For a moment, she tore her eyes from the stage to him, looking scandalised. "They hold animals as slaves for their entertainment? This is like a travelling circus!"

She hadn't raised her voice above a whisper, but he still heard her outrage. "I assure you, they take good care of the animals."

"And how would you know?"

"Because," he stressed, leaning against the bannister next to her, "I happen to be one of the benefactors that funds all medical treatments for creatures and staff."

He looked down his nose at her. She could believe what she wanted, but even as much as he resented the Opera, his mother had always loved it, and therefore he gladly spent great amounts of money to help its funding.

Granger turned back to the stage then, muttering something like, "But they're being used," under her breath as the glamoured witches started to tell their story of prophecies and malediction.

"This is Macbeth," she said with surprise after listening for a while.

Renata Tebaldi had stepped onto the stage, enchanting the audience with her beautiful voice and a captivating impression of Lady Macbeth. Even Draco couldn't resist listening with rapture.

They watched Duncan being cruelly murdered on the stage, tamed Red Caps wallowing in the fake blood that spilled from the actor's chest.

"So you've read Shacklebeard?" Draco asked when the porter held his monologue. He was curious to learn that Granger actually read fictional books as well.

"Shackle—who?" She turned to him, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "His name is Shakespeare and yes, I've read it. My mother is a huge fan…" She trailed off, and sadness washed over her face.

Draco didn't know exactly what had happened to her parents during the war, but clearly they weren't around anymore. "That's ridiculous, how would a Muggle get their hands on wizarding literature?"

"Oh, Draco. You really should have taken Muggle Studies at Hogwarts." She shook her head, amusement back on her face.

His name on her lips send a tingling feeling down his throat, but her disregard of his knowledge irritated him enough to distract from that strange sensation.

"Your Shakspeer must have copied Shacklebeard's work then," he challenged her. This was easy, this was banter, this was innocent.

Granger regarded him, fully distracted from the spectacle on the stage below them. Her eyes were gleaming in the dim light like golden ambers. Draco leaned in close to understand her whispered words over Macbeth claiming the throne. "Well, when did he write it? Do you know a date or the century?"

Of course Draco knew. His mother had been insistent on him studying classical wizarding literature as a child. "End of the 17th century," he said without hesitation.

She turned back to the stage, a mischievous smile on her face that was similar to the grin of that ugly cat on her ridiculous mug.

Draco huffed, nudging her shoulder with his as he leaned against the banister next to her. They were that close. "You're not going to enlighten me then?" What would he give for her to share a piece of her mind. Not her knowledge, but what lay beyond—what she thought, what she felt.

"Macbeth—the original I mean—is from around 1605."

"Impossible."

She patted his arm. "Don't worry, I won't tell any of your pretentious pureblood friends that they are enjoying a Muggle rip-off."

Draco caught her hand as she was about to pull it back.

He suddenly found he cared very little about who had originally written Macbeth and how scandalised his mother would be at the notion of it being a Muggle story.

Her eyes found his, searching as he still didn't release her hand but pulled her closer.

As Macbeth fell into insanity over the ghost of his victim haunting him below them, Draco stood at the edge of insanity himself, drawn to her searching eyes, asking questions he couldn't answer.

He trapped her between his arms, the banister to her back.

"Draco." It was meant to be a warning, he could see it in the way she tried to harden her features, but it was barely a whisper, calling to him like a siren.

"What would you do if I do if I kissed you now?" he breathed, leaning in close and inhaling her scent as he lowered his lips to her neck so his breath ghosted across her skin. He pulled back to see goosebumps erupt along her neckline.

"Why would you do that with no one around to pretend for?" Her voice was wavering as if she was trying hard to keep up an act. And he knew she was losing the battle because the hand on his chest didn't push him away. She was holding onto him, pulling him down, closer to her face.

When their lips connected, her lashes lay flush against her freckled cheeks, her chin was tilted up to make her mouth meet his, and in that moment Draco couldn't think of anything more beautiful, more innocently erotic than her willingly offering herself to him. Her face was open and full of longing, her lips parted as if whispering a worshipping prayer with her head tilted towards the gods in the sky.

Unlike the first time he had kissed her, this was something he allowed himself to feel. Draco knew his body craved it, and he couldn't resist closing his eyes when he tasted her. Letting go was never easy for him, but with her all it took was a brush of lips.

He succumbed to the need to press close to her, to bury himself against her body and mold her to him as he grabbed her waist. Cradling her head, he tilted it just the right way to sink into her when she finally opened her mouth on his in a ravenous sigh.

A shiver ran down his spine when her nails dragged across his scalp and only then he noticed that her arms held him tight as if to keep herself from falling.

He balanced them against the banister to keep her in place as he traced her lip with his tongue. Her moans were swallowed in Macbeth's rant of a madman down below, and Draco felt his own sanity slip away, burn in the fire of her kisses. Deep and open-mouthed. Granger kissed as honest and all-encompassing as her sincere eyes promised, and Draco wanted to hold on tight, never wanted to let the truth of their kiss slip from his fingers. That moment, it felt like the only thing of substance in his world of lies and deception.

His skin was hungry for her hands that now slid down his neck and tugged at his collar. His flesh burned where she leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest hiding his unsuspecting heart.

And then it was too late. Too late to retreat, and his heart was wide open, his body was wide open as if she had grown claws and torn away the clothes, torn away the flesh, breaking apart the ribs to bury deep inside him and curl around his heavily beating heart until it was hers, all hers.

Draco stilled, tried to straighten up and think. _Think_. Willing his mind back from where he had dropped it at her feet after she had dragged it from his grasp, he felt the vertigo of returning to his senses throw him off balance for a second.

"Interesting." Draco pulled back, and her eyes instantly snapped open.

First confusion and then fiery anger clouded her irises. "What?"

"How you now offer yourself when just a few weeks ago you literally ran away from me for _days_ after I kissed you."

It _was_ interesting. He didn't waste time contemplating his own desires in this. He wanted her, that much was clear. But he hadn't expected _her_ to want _him_. At least not like this. Not with her honest, open heart beating against his in a way that made them synchronise.

He had been prepared for—had _hoped_ for—her silent fury as she stood in front of him, humiliation reddening her pretty cheeks. Or maybe it was just the afterglow of their kiss. But he needed that rage to regain the safe, professional distance between them that had fallen away like a crumbling wall down onto the unsuspecting audience still absorbed in the opera on the stage.

Yet, Draco nearly regretted stopping the kiss, and it took a great deal of restrain not to tuck the stray curl of her hair that he had pulled loose back behind her ear. He'd love to kiss her again. It would be sweet delight, and maybe it would make her forget to hate him for just a few more seconds.

A vibrating gong indicated the break of the play that both of them seemed to have completely forgotten about. Lights tentatively flickered back on, and people started spilling out of the theatre to get drinks and converse.

Granger straightened first her hair, then her dress. Everything was neat and back in place—everything but his heart that seemed to be displaced to the other side of his chest. It was throbbing with a confusing emotion that he wasn't able to put back in order as easily as his hair that he swiped back with his fingers as if tracing where hers had been just moments before.

Granger didn't even excuse herself as she pushed past him towards the ladies rooms. Draco let her go, looking instead for something to occupy his mind with. He craved a distraction to tether himself back to reality. He went for the bar, ordering a strong whiskey to get rid of the lingering taste of her.

Looking at the crowd of people, he spotted a group of investors and was making his way towards them, but he was stopped by a man blocking his way.

"Draco, you always make everything about business, do you? I saw you with that French guy earlier and now you're already hunting for the next deal to strike. You have to enjoy these kinds of events!"

"I don't know what there is to enjoy about dressing up and parading around, showing what a good example of a wealthy pureblood you are."

Zabini laughed one of his all-tension-breaking laughs. "Come on, the second half you'll be spending with us. We got plenty of space on my balcony."

He looked around. "Don't tell me your beautiful date has already left, I thought she'd like the opera?"

Granger chose that moment to slip back to his side, sending Zabini a polite smile.

"Ah, there she is. Hope you're enjoying the play, Hermione?"

Draco felt his fingers curl in irritation. Blaise flirting with Granger was definitely not what he wanted to watch.

"Thank you, Blaise. It's one of my favourites from Shakes—from Shacklebeard." Humour played around her eyes, and Draco felt a strange sense of connection between them as a smile tugged at his lips. He was an insider of her underhanded teasing, and it felt like they were sharing a secret only for them to know. It was inconsequential and irrelevant, but it felt like something that now belonged to them only.

Her face didn't betray whatever she felt about their kiss from earlier. She was perfectly composed as she held small talk with Zabini.

"So are you going to join us then? It's a lot more fun to watch with more people around."

"Of course, we'd love to," Granger agreed without giving Draco the opportunity to reject the offer. She seemed desperate to put space between them, to put people between them like a fortress keeping out whatever tension they had been building up the whole evening.

Even if he didn't much care for spending time with Zabini and his associates, Draco felt grateful for her foresight. He wasn't sure he could keep his hands to himself if they would spend another hour on his lonely balcony, in the secrecy of darkness.

Granger was swept up in a conversation by Daphne Greengrass when another gong called them back to their seats to watch the second half of Macbeth.

"Blaise," Draco said quietly, hanging back as the others proceeded so they could share a private chat. "Keep your hands off." He said it casually, but his message was clear, and Zabini raised his hands in defeat.

"No worries, Drake." Draco hissed in annoyance at the nickname. "I figured, I could wait a little longer." Zabini grinned.

"Wait for what?" Suddenly, he felt sick, and his mouth tightened with restraint to keep his voice down.

"Just figured you'd be done with her at some point, and I'd be glad to be there to pick up the pieces. We've always shared our women. Remember that French chick back in school?" Zabini laughed, but Draco only glowered.

"The one running into my arms after you tried to force yourself upon her? She was a year younger than us, it was simply disgusting."

Blaise growled. "Fuck you, Draco. You know it wasn't like that."

His eyes had turned dark, and Draco suddenly wasn't so sure if it was clever to antagonise Zabini. The man was even more concerned with his pristine image than Draco was, and he could be ruthless with his enemies. Also, Zabini was used to getting what he wanted with a wink and a snap of his fingers. Apparently women found him gorgeous, and that beauty was irresistible for the average person. It was hard saying 'no' to beautiful people. Looks were the key to success in this vain world, and Zabini had always made sure to keep his image in line with his perfect features, earning great wealth that way. Nasty rumors definitely weren't a safe ground.

He followed Zabini to their seats.

The balcony was crowded, Nott and Flint both there with their dates—or wife in Flint's case—and Zabini being there with Daphne Greengrass.

They had their usher-elf bring champagne and laughed, not caring for the opera playing out on the stage. Privacy charms kept their noise from reaching past the banister, otherwise they would have been thrown out for their disrespect. Having exceptionally deep pockets helped with that, too.

Draco kept to himself and watched the opera. He wasn't interested in their chatter at the moment.

Renata Tebaldi made a big entrance and raved about blood dripping from her hands. Her voice was glorious, and for a moment, Draco wished the lot behind him would shut up and listen for a second. His mother would have snapped at them and threatened to hex them. His mother, who was the most composed witch he had ever known.

He watched Lady Macbeth finally throw herself off a tower and wondered if he would be Granger's downfall at one point. Maybe she'd become another victim on his way to success.

And then Draco watched Granger watching the play. She seemed to have forgotten all about him and was fully immersed in the violent death of Macbeth.

She briefly chatted with Zabini which drove Draco positively mad.

When he took Granger back home late in the night, Draco wanted nothing more than to take her home with him. Somehow, he couldn't bear the thought of her sleeping alone in that miserable flat all on her own. How did she deal without Black, with the loneliness? Did she feel the void expanding like he did sometimes when he lay awake at night, haunted by nightmares and memories?

At her doorstep, Granger looked up at him, looking out of place in her elegant dress that bled into the midnight blue of the darkness in her flat. For a second, Draco thought she might kiss him again. But then she just raised her hand to his cheek briefly, her fingers tracing an invisible line on his skin as if to see if he was still there.

"Don't be such an arse all the time," she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

He wanted to steal that from her, kiss it from her lips, and it took him everything to crack a grin instead and saying, "Old habits die hard."

She shook her head, and it was impossible to tell if in amusement or disappointment. "Goodnight, Draco." And then she shut him out as the door fell closed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of my favourites and it only exists thanks to Nora who gave me a lot of ideas for a wizarding version of the opera.
> 
> Thank you to betas Nora Fares, KoolStoryBro and Myweirdworld!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> "Don't be such an arse all the time," she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
> 
> He wanted to steal that from her, kiss it from her lips, and it took him everything to crack a grin instead and saying, "Old habits die hard."
> 
> She shook her head, and it was impossible to tell if in amusement or disappointment. "Goodnight, Draco." And then she shut him out as the door fell closed.

  


* * *

When he took Granger to Dumbledore's memorial day at the end of June, the press was still excited about their 'blooming relationship'. Granger seemed more and more at ease with him, growing curious, asking questions until he refused to accommodate her and answer any more. After the stolen kiss at the opera, they both had fallen into a rhythm of comfortable denial. Neither wanted to breach the topic, and the distance between them was restored at least to some degree.

Draco's presence at the event that day felt like fateful irony since he had been the one who had caused the death of their former headmaster. At least he hadn't been the one to cast the killing curse, and few knew to what degree he had actually been involved. After the war, no one who had witnessed Dumbledore's death was left alive. It had left an opening for Draco to tell his own tale at the hearing, to use his occlumency to twist the truths he was forced to tell under the influence of Veritaserum. After all, the liminal space between truth and lie was vast, and truth was what a person believed it to be. He was a master at convincing himself of the truths that suited him the most.

Looking at Granger as she listened to a speech about Hogwarts' rebirth and way back to glory, Draco felt a twinge of regret. A truth he'd rather cast aside made its way to the forefront of his mind. He suddenly knew that he enjoyed her company way too much, found their conversations too entertaining, her eyes too entrancing. The mere thought of ending all this in a matter of months, maybe weeks, tasted bitter on his tongue. Draco regretted ever asking her to do this.

Granger had wormed her way into his private life and knew more about him than any of his friends, more intimate details than he cared to admit. It was intimidating to know he had gradually given up so much power over himself. It had been her easy smiles, her calm aura that had enticed him.

Realising this was like being doused with ice water. He felt vulnerable.

Draco turned to distract himself from her presence. She was so close to him that he felt the warmth her skin radiated without touching her.

He scanned the crowd and suddenly his throat constricted at what he spotted. It wasn't possible. He grasped at his tie, yanking it loose, but it didn't help. The room around him narrowed, the figures around him distorted into looming shadows and all his attention was drawn towards Albus Dumbledore, standing mere steps from him.

He had gone mad. Draco was looking at the ghost of his past, at the man he had led to death. The violins playing for entertainment suddenly sounded like mourning Banshees, the chatter around him turned to malevolent hisses.

He felt a hand slip into his and closed his fingers around it still fighting with his erratic breathing.

"Draco." It was a mere whisper, but it pulled him out of the shock and washed away the corrosive panic in his lungs.

He tore his eyes from the apparition and looked at Granger. Her thumb was stroking the back of his hand, and she stood close, searching his face for any trace of recognition.

"It's okay. I'm here." And somehow that made it okay. Because whatever form of insanity had claimed his mind would be bearable as long as he knew that she was there, that she was real.

"I thought I saw him." He looked back, but Dumbledore was gone.

It took Granger a beat before she understood what he had meant. "Oh, that was probably Aberforth. You know, his brother. They do look an awful lot alike."

Draco shook his head trying to clear it from the webs of the panic attack.

The discomfort wouldn't ease. Draco hated being here in the first place, but he couldn't afford not showing his face. Now, all he wanted was to leave and never think about Dumbledore and his twin-like brother ever again.

They went to watch the fireworks as they lightened the night sky. Draco resented every minute of this charade. The Dumbledore the great saviour, and yet it had only taken a schoolboy to bring him down. Sometimes he felt like the headmaster had failed him; because deep down, Draco knew that Dumbledore could have prevented it all, the man had clearly known about his task when he had cornered him on the top of the Astronomy tower.

He had been the one to defeat Grindelwald, and yet he couldn't have fought off Draco? Unlikely.

Dumbledore had sacrificed himself just how he had planned the sacrifice of Potter. And Draco had just been another victim of his plans on the way. What was the innocence of a Death Eater's son worth when there were so much bigger and more important things at play?

It made him angry, incredibly angry. Rationally, Draco knew that there were many others to blame besides Dumbledore. His father had failed him just as much as his headmaster had. And Draco himself had been proud, so proud when he had been branded, ready to throw his life at the feet of the Dark Lord and willing to follow his every command.

Granger turned to him, as if sensing all that was simmering inside him. She reached up, moving a strand of hair from his face, holding his eyes as if to tell him that everything would be alright.

Her kindness was strangely painful, because it felt undeserved. He had essentially killed the man they were celebrating that day after Dumbledore had promised him protection. Draco had set into motion all the bad that had happened in the war by getting Dumbledore out of the picture. All the deaths, all the agony—if a time traveller boiled the war down to one event to change the outcome, it would inevitably be that day he had stood on the Astronomy tower and had watched Dumbledore take his last breath.

Draco tried to turn away from Granger, to not let her see the unwanted regret welling up inside him.

She didn't object, but he could feel her lean into him, her warm body pressed to his like a blanket of solace. He put an arm around her shoulders and hoped it felt like an apology, because Draco knew he was too much of a coward to ever give her one aloud.

After the fireworks, Renata Tebaldi had been invited to sing a dirge, and Draco's mood turned foul. How much longer would they worship the almighty Dumbledore?

Someone pulled them aside. "Draco, come on, this is positively depressing. Let's get wasted."

Draco was never more relieved for Zabini's easy-going nature. The man knew how to lighten the mood in any room. Even if this was practically a funeral, he had managed to find some of their old group of friends to go to the Leaky.

"I'll take you home," Draco told Granger.

"Nooo, where's the fun in that?" Zabini interjected, taking her by the elbow. "Bring your beautiful girl with you; you need to learn to share. Hogging her all to yourself, now that's unfair!"

"Don't be such a flirt, Blaise." Granger laughed and followed Zabini and the others towards the exit of the Ministry Hall that had been redecorated to properly fit the occasion. Draco's jealousy spiked seeing her laugh so easily. She was always so serious with him, and all it took was an inappropriate comment from Zabini to lighten up her whole face in amusement.

They found their way to the Leaky Cauldron that was already crowded.

The image of Dumbledore was still ingrained into his retina—or rather the image of the man's brother. Draco didn't feel like taking it easy and ordered himself a firewhiskey right away. The stuff was cheap crap at the Leaky, but it was perfect for burning away all past regrets and replace it with a warm blanket of drunkenness.

Granger seemed to enjoy the banter Zabini objected her to. Draco watched them as he leaned against the bar to watch the crowded place where people laughed and shouted over each other's heads to be heard.

"If you're not careful, he's gonna steal your girl in no time," Nott said, sliding onto a seat next to him.

"Blaise is a fool if he thinks she wants a vain, pretty boy like him."

Nott snorted. "Because you are so different."

"She doesn't need to want me for this to work. The papers love her."

"Oh, come on. No one believes you're doing it only to polish the image of our society anymore. You're not that noble."

"Who says I am? It's quite enjoyable, I have to admit that. She's so easy to manipulate."

"I've seen the way you look at her and the way you look at _Blaise_ when he does that." Nott nodded towards the two of them. Zabini had somehow managed to get Granger a little tipsy and his arm was around her waist as she threatened to slid off the stool she was perched on.

Draco downed his Whiskey in one go and ordered a new one with a lift of his finger in the direction of the bartender. "I don't like it," he admitted, realising that it was the truth. He wanted to tear Zabini's fingers off his hand one by one and feed them to a Blast-Ended Skrewt just for touching her. "Well, fuck, guess I have to keep her then."

The alcohol loosened his tongue, but somehow Draco knew that his secrets were safe with Nott. As much as the man annoyed him, he had always been strangely loyal, just like Zabini had always considered them to be friends even though Draco had never indicated that the feeling was mutual.

Nott clinked glasses with him. "You, Draco Malfoy, are royally fucked."

Draco scowled and decided Granger had had enough when she said something that made Blaise-fucking-Zabini blush and then put her hand to her mouth, giggling in shock of herself.

Pushing off the bar, he shoved past a bulky man with a pointy hat to move towards Granger. "Let's get some air," he said and took her by the arm, pulling her away from Zabini.

To get to the exit, they had to squeeze past Flint who had already found an adventure for the night to snog senseless. His wife had wisely chosen to go back home on her own, saving herself from the disgrace of watching her husband flirt with girls that had barely graduated from Hogwarts.

Really, watching the shambles of Flint's marriage was the best way to make a bloke keep his pant on.

"You're hurting me," Granger said as soon as fresh air hit them.

Draco let go of her arm immediately and clenched his teeth as he saw the red marks his fingers had left that were now fading slowly. He hadn't realised how angry he had become with her for letting herself go, for allowing Zabini to touch her like that.

Fury flared again as he thought about what she could have possibly said to make someone like Blaise Zabini blush. She had giggled like a silly schoolgirl. Did she do this on purpose? Messing with him when he was on the verge of completely falling for her?

"I won't just stand by when you fawn all over Zabini right in front of me."

She flinched at his snarl, but then her face darkened. She seemed to sober up more quickly than he did in the cool night breeze. Alcohol was still clouding his senses, making him moody and irritated, pulling down his defences and his carefully built facade.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Draco. I've had enough of this. You might be getting off on ordering me around, but I'm not your slave to do your bidding and take your wishes into account for every decision I make."

"Then fuck off and live with the consequences," he growled. "I'm not forcing you to be here, you can walk away at any time. But for every action, there is a reaction."

His warning only spiked her anger, and he could feel the air shifting with her magic. He had been tense all evening, and now it finally got to her. He knew he should apologise, that he had no right being angry at her when in truth he was angry at himself for acting like a lovesick _fool_. Jealousy tasted stale on his tongue, and he wanted to punish her for evoking this burning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Fine," Granger said, turning away and walking down the street.

Draco blinked, suddenly feeling as sober as one could be. Somehow her defying him was more shocking as he expected it to be. So she had finally decided that too many lines were crossed. He should have anticipated that at one point she would leave.

Something twisted his guts into a painful knot. She left him, right here.

Granger staggered a little in the middle of the road and stopped. Without turning she said. "I'm too drunk to apparate. Will you take me home?" Something in her voice sounded like an act, like she pretended to mock him further by forcing him into being the gentleman he was bred to be and take her home to make sure she was safe. Draco had had two shots of Whiskey and Granger definitely hadn't kept up so there was no way she was too drunk to apparate.

He flexed his jaw, trying to reign his temper. "You are a bad liar, Granger."

When he apparated her to her house, ready to leave immediately, she held him back. She pulled him up the stairs, and Draco felt himself unable to object.

His anger had faded into tiredness. He didn't want to play this game with her any longer. Didn't want to play _against_ her any longer. Maybe she had made the right choice. Maybe stepping away from this was what they both needed. He wouldn't cause her trouble. He knew he wouldn't be able to make himself do that to her.

Granger truly had him by his balls. As Nott had put it: he was royally fucked.

He wondered what she was up to as she led him across her doorstep, but he didn't need to wonder for long as she, as soon as the door closed behind them, pulled him down, pressing her lips to his, her hands on either side of his face.

He felt a coil easing inside him and sighed into her kiss that, tentative at first, grew bolder at his response. His soul melted on her lips. He grabbed her waist and pulled her close, as close as their bodies would allow, and he felt like they were merging together like blazing gold. Her fingers were caressing his neck, grabbing his collar and unfastening the first button to proceed further down his chest. Draco couldn't tear his lips from hers to even _breathe_.

He didn't dare to touch her bare skin until she had unbuttoned his shirt, tucked it free and poured her kisses over his neck, his collar bones, his chest. Sliding her dress off her shoulders, moulding his hands to them, he caressed her, his fingers gliding over the curve and along her arms. Her skin was warm, warm as his, and it felt like they were one and the same, as if her body was made for his hands to discover. Trembling, he moved his fingers further, reaching her waist while she lightly bit down on his neck before licking the spot soothingly. She would leave a mark, and he was turned on beyond words.

Granger pulled back, looking up at him with uncertainty. He could see in her eyes that she misinterpreted his dazzled appreciation of what she did to him for reluctance, and Draco didn't waste a second to claim her mouth and push her back against the door.

He wanted to leave his trace on her too, wanted to imprint himself on her like letters on a book. He wanted to fill all her blank pages with his name, over and over again until she was full of him. And then he wanted to fill in the corners, draw his face in the margins and wed them between the lines until ink spilled from the oversaturated pages like a waterfall.

Draco pushed a knee between her legs until the dress rode up her thighs, and he lifted her against the wood of the door so she could wrap her legs around him. He kissed where the straps of her bra touched her white skin. So pure and clean that it tasted of nothing but her.

He wanted to be in her, with her for as long as this moment lasted and forever after that.

"Take me to bed, Draco."

He dragged in a breath, gripping her waist tightly as he tried to hold himself together. Because he was falling apart under her sweet kisses and sweet, sweet words and his whole body trembled as her tongue caressed his name.

She held on tight as he lifted her from the wall, carrying her the two steps towards the bedroom door and pushed it open with his shoulder. She felt so right in his arms, a weight that begged his muscles to tighten around her and press her closer to him.

Stabilising them with one knee on the covers of her small bed, he gently lowered her until she lay before him. Her wild hair arranged like a halo around her head. Her eyes roamed his face and then his body where she had peeled the shirt from his chest.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her face, and he didn't want to. She traced the lines on his chest, faint but stark white and clearly visible against his pale skin. Her fingers landed where Potter had torn apart his torso in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Draco shrugged out of his shirt and then took her fingers and kissed the tips of each of them before teasing the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. She sighed under him and pulled him closer by twisting her hand to grab his.

Kissing him again, slowly this time, she let her fingers trace the scars on his back. The ones where Voldemort had had him whipped for not killing Dumbledore himself. She was soothing an old pain that he had come to accept.

Slowly, he ran his hands to her waist and pulled at her dress until it slid down her body. The soft fabric was thin enough for him to feel the heat of her skin beneath and the softness of her flesh. It woke a primal instinct in him to rip it off her and take her fast and whole, but Draco restrained himself, taking every second he could get. Because deep beneath the lust and warmth that had claimed his mind, he knew that this wouldn't last and was a just fleeting moment in the eternity of time. It was a mere breath of the world, not even an exhale but only a deep inhale of all things good and beautiful. And they would dissolve and melt away on his hands like the first snowflakes in winter he had tried to catch as a small child.

She wriggled out of the dress, and Draco could finally lay his hands on her, all of her. Tracing the curve of her ribcage, the dip of her waist and the round of her hips, he pulled her legs apart and wrapped them around him to lean down closer.

But she had a mind of her own and holding onto his shoulders, she pulled herself upwards to meet him, twisting and turning until he lay sprawled on his back with her like a queen perched on top of him.

She was magnificent as she throned above him, her hands on his stomach and already nestling with his belt. He wanted to be rid of her bra and panties, but forced his hands to rest atop her thighs on either side of him to watch her undress him. His cock was painfully hard at the mere sight of her and he slid his hands further up to cup her butt.

Caressing the soft cotton under his fingers, he let her undress him completely and then she took him in her mouth without warning, without hesitation, and all Draco could do was curse.

"Fuck." Swallowing hard, he gripped her butt tighter. His mouth went dry, and he closed his eyes. If she went on—she sucked and then her tongue licked the tip of his cock and Draco groaned. _Fuck!_

He came within seconds, and she took all of him. It was like falling and flying at the same time. He felt weak and strong and vulnerable and invincible.

Greedily, she licked her lips and looked up at him with such lust that Draco couldn't help but pull her up towards him to kiss it from her mouth, kissing his arousal from her lips and flipping them over. Pulling away the cup of her bra, he latched onto her breast, softly caressing it with open-mouthed kisses, tasting desire on every inch of her skin. Flicking his tongue over her nipple, he felt her tense under him and her hands found his hair.

He got rid of her cotton panties and felt her wetness, let his fingers glide through it and revelling in the quiet moans accompanying her shivering pleasure. Kissing the jut of her hip bone, he moved his fingers, curved them slightly and relished in her panting and squirming below him.

Feeling her squeeze tight, he hardened again. He couldn't wait any longer to get into her, every fibre in his body ready to melt over her soft skin until his body became hers. Draco found her eyes, asking what his lips were unable to utter.

"I need this," she whispered, and it was all Draco needed.

He wanted to let her know that he needed it too, desperately so, but his tongue wouldn't move, his teeth were clenched in anticipation. He buried himself in her, his head falling to her shoulder as a wave of sensation prickled along his skin. He kissed her again and started moving, getting deeper and deeper with each thrust.

His mouth found her nipple again, and he sucked, feeling her fingers tangle in his hair as she met him, arching her back to get closer.

Her hand reached for his, untangled it from the sheets and pulled it between their bodies where she made him touch her, and Draco had to grind his teeth to prevent himself from coming then and there.

He pressed against her clit, rubbing in circles and with the next thrust felt her walls tighten around him, and it was like she was holding onto him with every part of her body. Ecstasy shook his very soul as he felt himself dissolve and reassemble in her hands.

* * *

Draco still breathed hard when he dropped onto the covers beside her. One moment they had been as close as two humans could be and the next, they weren't touching each other with even an inch of skin. He wanted to reach out to her, feel her and pull her closer, but he remained where he was, constantly aware of her lying so close and yet a million miles away.

Fuck.

His life was a mess. And this was going to make it an even bigger one. He didn't mind the sex so much. Everyone needed it from time to time, and Granger had simply been available and willing.

And he had wanted her. Still wanted her. _That_ was the problem. He wanted her so badly that his _bones_ hurt.

He flinched when her now cool fingers touched his ribs. She didn't pull away, tracing the line of one of his most recent scars where his father had been forced to punish him for not recognising Potter when they had been brought to Malfoy Manor by the Snatchers. It wasn't a clean scar like the others he had. It was violent and uneven, still tinged and healed badly. His mother hadn't been allowed to use Dittany, and it still hurt sometimes when the weather was bad.

Draco turned his head to look at Granger. Her eyes were sad as they followed the line of her fingers until she reached the spot where the mattress covered the part of the scar that ran along his back. He was pain and violence, and she was tenderness. He knew that at some point his darkness would consume all of her if he allowed it to. She'd be his Lady Macbeth, unable to wash the blood from her hands that he would inevitably spill on them.

She withdrew her fingers as if having the same thought. Lying on her side, she stared at everything and nothing, lost in the patterns of scars on his skin and the muscles underneath it.

He was tainted.

Turning his arm, he let her catch a glimpse of his Dark Mark, hoping that it would remind her of who he had been. Who he was. It was still there like the day he had received it; it was the only truth about himself that he couldn't hide.

She seemed to wake up from a hazy dream and suddenly sat up. Dragging her discarded dress from the ground, she briefly considered it, before tossing it aside and getting up, walking towards what must be her bathroom without caring a bit about her nakedness.

Draco could only watch her move away, feeling heavy and lonely without her by his side.

He sighed and then got up too, pulling his clothes back on. He didn't wait for her to reemerge from the bathroom. He didn't think he could go if he saw her again. He mustn't stay, that was his only thought.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo :D This was intense!
> 
> Many thanks to my betas KSB, Noori and MyWeirdWorld!


	14. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Draco could only watch her move away, feeling heavy and lonely without her by his side.
> 
> He sighed and then got up too, pulling his clothes back on. He didn't wait for her to reemerge from the bathroom. He didn't think he could go if he saw her again. He mustn't stay, that was his only thought.

  


* * *

"Malfoy." Bletchley looked all business and sounded dangerously collected. The man was a politician through and through. He was handing out smiles left and right like pamphlets on election day. Rarely, he let that facade drop.

Draco knew this mood well, had learned to look for the tiniest sliver of it whenever being around the man. It was never a good sign and was usually followed by people being fired or worse.

This time however, he was the only one around. That meant he wouldn't be able to put any blame on others and wriggle himself out of the affair—whatever it was that had put Bletchley into his mood.

"Minister, how can I help you today?" He had been called in right after arriving at the Ministry by Bletchley's secretary who was nearly trembling with urgency.

"See, I know you have grown quite fond of Miss Granger." Draco wanted to protest, but squelched the urge as Bletchley continued. "However, sharing your bed doesn't give her a free pass to actively work against this government."

Draco tilted his head, wondering for a second if he had heard wrong. "What exactly is this about?" he asked slowly.

"I have been informed by some of my men that Miss Granger is in contact with people we deem as political deviants."

"Who are?"

"Specifically Dean Thomas from the Daily Prophet."

"Thomas—he went to school the same year as me I think…" Draco mused.

Suddenly, it clicked.

" _Who was the man visiting you?" Draco asked. He had just passed a strange man at the doorstep of Granger's home._

" _D-Dean. An old friend."_

_Draco remotely remembered a dark-skinned boy from Gryffindor. There was something else, that he knew he had forgotten about the man. If he were carrying a Remembrall with him, he was sure the smoke inside would turn bright red. He tried to shake the feeling off._

" _What secrets do you have to hide that he can't visit you?"_

Dean Thomas—dark-skinned, long neck and the insufferable desk clerk at the Daily Prophet, friend of Seamus Finnigan who was the apprentice of none other than Rita Skeeter herself.

"I see you come to the same conclusion as I do," the Minister interpreted his darkening gaze. "This will have immediate consequences for Miss Granger."

"Minister, if you'd let me," Draco interrupted him swiftly, straightening a little, "I'd like to investigate this further, so we have something substantial against her should you chose prosecution."

Bletchley regarded him. "You are one of my best men, Malfoy, even though I know your loyalty ends where you no longer see personal benefits." He paused as if considering the options. "I'll give you a day to sort out this mess, and if there is nothing to save, you should get your personal affairs cut and dried till then. I will not be considerate of your image should this prove to be a serious transgression on Miss Granger's part. She might be a useful tool in distracting the press from real matters, but we cannot allow her to jeopardise our political equilibrium."

Draco nodded, grave foreboding surging up within his gut.

He left the Ministry without even returning to his own office and apparated directly to her flat. Only at his arrival he realised that she wouldn't be back from work for at least another hour.

He let himself in just like he had done before already. Draco paced the room, feeling like waiting for her arrival was worse than leaving without goodbyes the night before. He had so badly wanted to go after her. The shower had started running just as he had pulled the door closed behind him, and all he could think about when lying in bed that night was joining her in that shower, kissing the water from her cheeks, her lids, her lips. He wanted to prevent it from washing away whatever had remained of him.

Her flat was silent, its emptiness haunting. Without her, it was as if the walls held their breath, waiting for her return. The faint smell of dog had begun to fade away, all traces of Black now gone.

Nervosity took over as Draco realised that Black had been the biggest leverage he had hanging over her head. Threatening her with the arrest of Black had been the tightest leash he had, and now with the man out of the picture, she was free to defy him. It suddenly felt like her unabashed lust the night before had already been a rebellion. She had held all power over him, and she had loved it.

Draco shook his head, trying to clear it. Breathing deeply, he went for the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

Fighting with the lid of Granger's teabox, he noticed that his hands had started trembling. He had been so careless. The things she knew about him were beyond everything any of his political opponents could ever get a grasp on. And he knew that she was well aware of more, far more, of what was going on in the Ministry and the business world at this point. She was a quick learner, picked up on details, and all her questions had sounded so genuinely interested, so innocent. He flexed his hand, grasped for his wand for comfort and to anchor himself, and when he was afraid he might snap it in his tense grip, he put it on the table in front of him to brace himself on the edge, letting his head drop between his shoulders and his eyes fall closed to regain his footing.

It would be okay, she was a bad liar, she wouldn't have been able to keep any secrets from him. The Dean bloke was just her friend, she wasn't working with Skeeter just because she met with her friends.

But he remembered the way she had stepped in front of the crowd at his fundraiser and had put on a smile, thanking him for raising awareness and money for St. Mungo's. He remembered, how she had been in a fight with a man that he now recognised as Dean Thomas the day he had went to her work to apologise for his behavior at said fundraiser and how just little after, she had all of sudden not only accepted what he had done, she had apologised herself. She had asked for another event she could attend—another opportunity, his mind supplied—to gain more information for Rita Skeeter.

Draco bit his tongue and abruptly straightened up, emptying his mind and proceeding to make himself tea. He wouldn't be weak; he refused to.

Shoving the tea box back into the nearly empty cupboard, his eyes caught onto something. The back wall of the cupboard didn't quite fit the colour of the wood of the sides; its wavy grain felt rough in comparison to the polished door. He pressed against it, and like a lever, the opposite side raised enabling him to reach around the edge and pull it forward. A small notebook fell forward that had been pressed to the wall by the board.

In that moment, his body was simply functioning, his mind was sharp and clear, neither curiosity nor astonishment piercing through his occlumency walls.

He settled at the table, notebook in hand, tea long forgotten.

He turned the first page. Granger's script was neat.

The notes were about him for the first few pages. Sometimes just words jotted down without order or connection, sometimes she had drawn lines, to other names and to questions she had noted down.

She had written down everything. His dislike of fish, his dislike of Bletchley, his dislike of the whole world around him. She had written about his business, about his political position. All his deeds he had committed in both.

Her notes started to get more detailed with every page. There were the connections to Nott's business, his reluctant friendship with Zabini. Details about his negotiation with Loucheur at the Opera, and the deal he had struck with Katie Bell.

This little notebook held everything on him. It was the very essence of what was Draco Malfoy. She had noted down every detail because Hermione-fuucking-Granger was perfect and anything she did had to be bloody perfect too.

It was written with professional neutrality. Like a bibliothecary cataloging her library.

There was a whole page about his mother and how his past bled into the actions of his present. It was like a punch to the gut. She had written about his panic attack at Dumbledore's memorial celebration.

She had written about their kiss, about the sex, had made bullet points with questions dissecting his motives for wanting her as if he was a fucking machine calculating every step he took with valid reasoning.

She wrote about him like a stranger watching from the distance.

Only when he ripped a page while flipping it over, Draco realised his hands were shaking with rage. Or shaking at how violently ill he felt. His stomach was turning over, his eyes watered as he tried to swallow around the nausea.

She had all his deeds written down, judged over his character and actions like Merlin himself, and he could too well imagine the purpose for this.

Granger was his downfall. She was actively deceiving him, prying into his life and taking note of every detail.

But with no doubt, Rita Skeeter had her hands in this, was spinning this web of deception around him, that much was clear. Granger hadn't come back to him after their first kiss because she had seen no other way to keep herself and Black safe, she had been convinced by Skeeter's lackey to spy on him. On several occasions, she had had the opportunity to turn from him, to end their charade of a relationship. But Granger had always come back to milk him for more information she could rat out to Rita Skeeter to bring him down.

Draco ripped another page, and in his furious hands, it caught fire in a gust of emotional magic bursting from within him.

"Draco," her voice instantly took him back to reality.

Standing at her doorstep, Granger looked at him with big eyes, surprise slowly melting away replaced by horror as she realised what was burning in his hands.

He let the book drop as the flames licked at his fingers.

Quickly, he was out of his chair.

"You BETRAYED me!" he roared, the fire that had seconds ago burned his fingers was now burning inside of him. "I thought you at least were honest, that I could trust you!" He advanced on her when she calmly closed the door behind herself and fully stepped into the room. "Of all people, you were the one that betrayed me the most, Granger."

"What did you expect from me?" She looked up at him, her eyes defiant, her stance proud.

He looked at her, perplexed.

"What has ever made you think I owe you honesty or loyalty or even kindness?"

"I _own_ you!"

"Bloody hell, do you ever stop and listen to yourself? Your sense of loyalty is totally messed up! Go ahead and arrest me; I don't care any longer! Sirius is gone, probably dead by now. What do I have left to lose?"

"You bitch!" He stepped closer, grabbed her hair, janked at it. Since when had she stopped braiding it? When had she started to leave it loose, like a wild mane, like a declaration of war against him and against the whole world?

He realised that he couldn't threaten her with words any longer, but he was still above her, he was still stronger than her. Like a ragdoll, she stumbled as he pushed her backwards against the wall.

"Let me go."

He barely heard her, fury pumping through his veins like waves tumbling in the ocean. His free hand closed around her throat.

He wanted her to cry, he wanted to see her tears so badly, but as he stood there, pinning her to the wall and breathing heavily, her gaze didn't waver and her wand came to rest on his collar bone. Steady and ready to strike.

His own wand was on the table where he had left it—too far away to reach for it now.

"Why?" he rasped.

"Let go, Draco."

She didn't threaten him because the threat was abundant with her wand trained on his beating pulse, the tip glowing and burning his sensitive skin.

She held the power now, he realised. He might hold her trapped against the wall, but she was able to turn the tables any second. Slowly, he untangled his hand from her hair. His body felt empty all of sudden, like a strong gust of wind had taken everything that defined him and had blown it far away, leaving an empty shell.

He stumbled backwards until the back of his knees hit the chair, and he slumped down, burying his face in his hands.

"Why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me so much?"

She didn't answer for a long while, and Draco didn't find the strength to lift his head and look at her.

"It's not about you, Draco," she finally said, her voice very quiet. "Not everything is about you."

Draco scoffed. "Liar. You hate me for what I did to you and for what I did in the war." He still saw her, writhing on the floor in front of him. He still heard her screams at night and his aunt's cackle. He still saw her blood soaking into the floorboards of their drawing room while he stood by and did nothing.

She didn't reply which was more of a confirmation than a yes could have ever been.

He slowly got up, dizziness numbing his senses. _Don't be so dramatic_ , his father would say. _She's a Mudblood bitch and beneath you._

But she wasn't beneath him, was she? Even with all his power over her, she rendered him defenseless with just a few words and her wand. And with her eyes, those haunted, lonely eyes looking right through his soul and found it just as haunted and lonely. It was as if she was seeing past all the greed and hunger for power that simmered inside of him, like she saw his naked, raw fear of failing, of not being in power.

* * *

It took him a several hours to summon the courage to return to her flat with an investigative team and turn the place over. She was long gone, as was every trace of her presence and involvement with Rita Skeeter.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the turning point of the story now :) There's a few chapters left!
> 
> Big thanks to Nora and KoolStoryBro!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only few chapters left, but a new Dramione story is already in the works!
> 
> Big thank you to all the reviewers, I was a bit anxious about how the turn of events would be received, but I couldn't have hoped for a better reaction. I received so many wonderful reviews it literally made my eyes water :"3
> 
> The pressure is pretty high now though :D I edited this chapter again to make sure it's perfect, but I'm pretty nervous publishing this after the high praise I received for the last few chapters haha
> 
> Enjoy!

Bletchley had been anything but amused when he got word of Granger's disappearance. Draco had stayed clear of the man to avoid his wrath. He hadn't told a soul what he had found in her cupboard, hadn't told anyone that he had visited her just a few hours before he stormed her flat with a team of Aurors.

It would do no good to put his own head on the line. Also, he didn't think it was wise to let Bletchley know about the notes she had taken. Her observations were too much of a risk to disclose, and it was unlikely that any of his allies would remain calm if they knew. Panic wouldn't get them anywhere.

He instructed the Aurors to start looking for Granger with the vague explanation that someone who was hiding had something to hide themselves.

Who they managed to capture just a week later, however, was not someone Draco had expected to see again. He had thought the man long gone, but apparently Black hadn't been clever enough to go to the mainland and hide somewhere in Germany or France.

Bletchley was delighted. "Good work, Malfoy. Black has been perfect for keeping Granger in line before, so he will serve us well again. I'm sure, she will show up as soon as she hears of his arrest. Make sure the papers get word of it."

Draco inclined his head. He agreed with the Minister that Black was good leverage, but at the same time he didn't think Granger was so stupid that she would walk right into the Ministry. Especially, because she didn't know that he hadn't yet revealed her crimes.

From her perspective, trying to save Black meant arrest and neither would walk free. Nothing could be won.

Draco felt strangely conflicted by the thought of her handing in herself. For her sake, he hoped that she would leave Black to rot and run as far as she could. But that wasn't a thought he allowed himself, it cut too deep to the festering sratch her betrayal had left on his ego. Instead of contemplating the matter longer, he settled at his desk and wrote a letter to Columna. She'd be delighted about the insider information on Black's arrest.

Sending the owl to the Daily Prophet, Draco briefly closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. The late June sun was awfully hot, the air in his office stifling. Draco was tired. He knew he should prepare for the inevitable, for Granger spilling all secrets she had gathered about him and everyone around him, but her absence was like a weight pulling him down. He hadn't realised how used he had gotten to her presence, how often he had visited her and taken her out. Now that he hadn't seen her or heard from her in over two weeks, he felt like concrete had hardened over his lungs, making every breath heavy and strained.

He felt lonely.

Never before had he minded being on his own; he hadn't felt the urge to surround himself with people and events had mostly been a duty he attended because he had to. But with her, Draco had started to enjoy company, or maybe it was just _her_ company that he had enjoyed.

He hated Granger for the agony she had caused him. He missed her, but at the same time he wished he had strangled her the day he had found her notebook. There was a dark fire burning inside him, ignited by her betrayal.

He left his office late when the sun had already set and the air had freshened up considerably.

* * *

"Master Malfoy, Sir," his elf greeted him as he entered the Manor. "You has a visitor. We told she not welcome here, but she would not listen, would not." The elf shook its head and led Draco towards the drawing room.

Draco stopped at the threshold, watching as she slowly turned towards him, looking at him with uncertainty.

Granger had actually dared to show her face again. Did she think he would spare her a second time? It amazed him that she had set foot into Malfoy Manor. It probably was the place of all her nightmares, and now she had to face _him_ there; that truly was Gryffindor bravery and stupidity.

She looked forlorn in the big room with high ceiling. It had been redecorated of course and didn't resemble the one she had been tortured in at all. But her eyes didn't rest, her hands fisting the fabric of her simple dress. It was nothing like the dresses he had bought for her and yet he couldn't find any flaw in her appearance. If anything, the simplicity of it made her stand out like a delicate flower in the painfully ostentatious room with baroque furniture.

Draco despised himself for being unable to couldn't convince his mind that he found her unpleasant to look at even now after all that had happened, after all she had done.

Granger seemed to gather herself, her back straightening, her face showing purpose.

He refused to greet her, not crossing the threshold. It was a liminal space, neither fully separated from her, nor fully committed to having a conversation.

"Draco," she said. He hated how easily his name rolled off her lips. Insecurity flickered across her features briefly. "I need your help."

A rough chuckle escaped this throat. _How ironic_. "Pathetic, Granger. I have no help to offer."

She took a step towards him, but Draco quickly drew his wand. She was dangerous, like a kelpie luring him to deep waters to drag him down with her.

Granger stretched her arms out at her sides in surrender. "What did you expect me to do? I'd rather go back to the miserable life I had than seeing Sirius go back to Azkaban again. He's the only one I have left."

"How dare you come back?" he spat. "How dare you request my help? I should lock you up right alongside Black."

"He's your cousin, Draco."

He laughed. It was a weak excuse, even she knew that. "You forget that he got himself removed from the family tree long ago, and I don't care for family any longer. I have learned that it's best to live on your own. Family only drags you down into their misery."

Granger looked at him, her gaze strong, unwilling to back down. She reminded him of his mother in that moment, who had been standing by him equally strong when their house had been haunted by madmen. The memory was painful.

"What do I get out of this?" Draco asked, intrigued at her commitment. Granger seemed adamant in her approach. She seemed ready to sell the world to get her precious dog back.

"This is your chance to prove that you are more than this," she gestured at him, "more than—than just _greed_ and _threats_ , that you can actually be a decent human being, be altruistic and humble for once."

"There is nothing humble about being weak."

"There is nothing great about hurting others either!" Her voice hitched, agitation etched into her face. "That's what you do every damn day! But inside, we are all weak and afraid and fear the world we live in. Inside, we are all still hurting." She wiped at her cheeks with shaky hands. "That doesn't make us weak, Draco. _Hiding_ it makes us weak because it eats us from the inside out."

Draco knew he was no good man; he wasn't noble nor redeemable. He felt as if she burdened him with her expectations. Her desperation rolled over him, claiming him like a cold gust of wind in early winter. "I can't make this world right for you, Hermione. It's rotten and nothing can change that." His voice was quiet, it felt like an apology, and he hated himself for being weak, for capitulating to this urge to take the weight of the world off her shoulders.

She shook her head. "No one asks that of you. You just need to stop enacting this constant vengeance you are unleashing on us. Just look at me, what this awful society made of me. I am a pitiful version of my former self, they destroyed everything I am. But what they did to you… it's unspeakable."

He scoffed. "I'm no hero, have never been. You should know that."

"You were a bully, but you were just a silly boy, spurting what his father had instilled into him. You knew it wasn't right, I saw it in your eyes when I lay there," her hand motioned to the floor, her eyes looking anywhere but, "begging for you to make the torture stop."

His throat constricted when she talked about that fateful day she had lain on the very floorboards she was standing on now.

Her voice was shaking, but she didn't stop. "I saw how it tore you apart, the evil world Voldemort had created. But now—now you are doing all this because you actually _believe_ in it. You believe in this system of insanity! They completely carved you out and refilled you with all this evil scheming and this grey outlook of the world. There is no trust in you left, there is no belief in anything good. It's like they replaced you with a dementor, slowly sucking away all the good in this world."

"I am who I am."

"You are what they made you."

Draco shook his head. She thought she knew him so well because of all the notes she had taken. She had spied on him, had attributed meaning to his every move and constructed this image of him in her mind that she now projected onto reality as if she could juxtapose it to his true self.

Draco could never live up to what she saw in him, and at the same time, defiance spread its wings. She had _no right_ to push these expectations on him. He crossed the threshold, taking a single threatening step closer. "I think you got something completely wrong here, Granger. This is who I have always been, who I always _will_ be. I have fought too hard and too long to be where I am to have you tell me how desolate my existence is!"

"But it hurts, doesn't it?" He pressed his lips together as she looked at him with such vulnerability as if she was describing her own pain. "Deep down, when you see me, you can see yourself, can see how they maimed you beyond recognition."

She was so very far away, comparing him to herself while standing at the other side of the room that held the history of all that was different about them.

Draco dragged his hand down his face. He was tired, so tired of this world. "What do you think I can do, Granger?"

"Get Sirius out." Her answer was prompt, resolute. "You can arrest people, why not let them out again?"

"Because Bletchley will have my head."

She scoffed. "We already have your head. You burned just a copy of what I have on you. Rita will publish the information I gave her at some point. Bletchley will fall, and you will fall with him."

He leveled his eyes on her. "Stop her from publishing, and I'll get Black out." It was the last straw, and he was certain Granger would take it.

Draco knew it was wrong, so wrong to ask that of her. He knew _he_ had been wrong by doing any of this to her. He couldn't care less about the crimes she accused him of, but he was torn apart by knowing how much he had hurt her, how far he had driven her to betray him like this. Merlin, he had _forced a kiss on her,_ and _still_ she had come back because she put her values first and herself second.

Granger shook her head. Apparently, he had underestimated her. "It's not in my power any longer, Draco. I can't take anything back. Rita will publish, with or without my consent. She's ruthless, you should know that."

Draco crossed his arms. _What are you still doing here then?_ he wanted to ask.

"I wish," she said, "I wish I could save you."

Draco scoffed.

"I really do." Her eyes softened. "I know there's good in you, I know you can be tender and considerate. I've seen it even with all this hatred clouding it. But this is beyond my control."

"You expect me to get your dog out for nothing? Despite what you did and what Skeeter will still do? You are deluded."

"I know, but how can I give up hope when it's Sirius' life depending on it?" She looked at him wistfully. "I will go now, Draco. Farewell."

He wanted to grab her, to arrest her and bring her to Bletchley personally. He wanted to keep her from leaving, wanted to hold her, wanted to feel her close one more time. But she was a thousand miles away. She looked at him as if he were in another dimension she couldn't comprehend, and then she left just like she had announced.

Draco couldn't respond to her goodbye because his tongue was burning with anger and resentment for what she had done to him, but his heart was heavy and lonely.

* * *

He stared at the article Columna had written with the information he had sent her the day before. Black's face looked hollow and lost, his eyes dead.

The whole night, his mind had replayed the conversation with Granger in his drawing room again and again, refusing to let him rest. It was early, so very early in the morning, but Draco had given up on sleep and had went to the Ministry to work instead. He had seen just a handful of people scurrying through the halls like lost ghosts. The Daily Prophet had already waited for him on his desk, brought by one of the diligent and probably never sleeping house-elves operating the post system in the Ministry.

Granger hadn't even needed to read the article about the punishment that awaited Black for all sorts of trespassings. They seemed to be better connected in the Ministry than Bletchley suspected, getting information out this quickly. She had come to him asking for help without hesitation. Draco tried to picture how she would read what he had sent Columna. He wondered if she would notice that it carried his thumbprint all over it. Would she cry for Black, knowing that Draco wouldn't set him free?

He put the article aside and went through his letters instead, answering them with more rigor than usual.

Only when he had sent the last memo, did he feel how restless he was.

Something suddenly seemed to take possession of his body, and Draco found himself walking towards the elevators, riding it to the lowest level.

It was cold in the cellars of the Ministry.

Draco swiftly moved through the black-tiled halls, reaching the cells for short-term arrests. The warden didn't question his presence. No one knew of his plan, no one suspected anything. Deep down, even Draco himself hadn't quite registered what had manifested in his mind that was now driving him forwards.

"I need to see Black," he said to the warden, and the man stepped aside despite shooting him a questioning look. Usually, he never fetched the prisoners himself, prefering to have them prepared in one of the interrogation rooms for him.

He was lead towards one of the cells, where a form was huddled on the small cot. Black turned his face towards them as the keys rattled and the wards were lifted. Appallingly pale and sunken, his wide eyes stared at Draco.

Draco didn't waste time, pulling Black off the cot and out of the cell. When he turned towards the exit, the warden stepped in his way.

"I'm sorry Mr Malfoy, to release a prisoner, you need a—"

" _Stupefy_."

Black sullenly stared as the warden dropped.

"Get your crap together, Black." Draco had to drag him along. "Merlin, this is far too easy. How is a juridical system to work with such a bad executive?" he asked more himself than anybody else, as he walked Black to the exit.

"Nothing in this system works how it should, Malfoy. I thought that was the point?" Black croaked weakly. "Wasn't that what enabled you to get to power?"

"Sure. The fall will be all the longer and more painful as a result, I suppose." Draco refused to think about how he would go down in a matter of days, maybe hours, when either Bletchley realised that he had deceived him or Skeeter would release her article on his misdeeds.

Draco knew it would come. Either he'd be arrested for breaking Black out of prison, or Skeeter would fell him for all his other sins. What did it matter anyway?

Somewhere in his brain, he registered that he surely must be insane. Granger had driven him insane.

They passed a group of law students that looked at them strangely, but their instructor quickly urged them to move on, and Draco released the breath he had been holding. Then they reached the elevator and luckily, it was empty all the way up to the atrium.

"Where are you taking me?" Black must have belatedly realised that he didn't plan to take him to Azkaban. The man really wasn't well. Just a few days in a cell, not even with Dementors patrolling, and he had already deteriorated.

"Fuck if I know. Where do you think Granger will be staying at when she's no longer able to go to that shabby hole you call home?"

Black made a distressed sound at the back of his throat. "Don't take me to Hermione. She is better off without me."

Draco scrutinised the man until the elevator came to a halt and he was forced to move on. They passed the statue of Harry-bloody-Potter, several people staring at them. They must have sensed that what Draco was doing wasn't normal. Usually, if he had to deal with prisoners, he had Aurors do the dirty work for him. No way would an Undersecretary escort a criminal anywhere.

"Move," Draco ordered, but Black's eyes were transfixed upon Potter's monument.

Granger was right, it was totally oversized and looked more like someone had something to compensate to boost their ego than a war hero that had died for all of them to live.

"Malfoy!"

Draco didn't turn when he heard the call. He didn't care who it was, just that it wasn't good.

"Run," he hissed and pushed Black in direction of the fireplaces.

Whoever was following them had realised that they were escaping, and a spell whizzed past them, exploding on the tiles.

Black was fucking useless, weak and slow. Draco grabbed him and pulled him along.

Something pierced his back like a lightning bolt, but he refused to stop, refused to fail. Two more spells shot left and right of them through the air as they ran towards the Floo that would be their escape route.

Just when Draco thought the pain spreading along his shoulders was becoming unbearable, they reached the first fireplace and Black rasped something he couldn't quite understand and stepped into the flames, turning back to him. All Draco knew was that he fell forwards.

Everything turned dark before he made it to the green flames that could have carried him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might take a break for a couple of weeks. I have a difficulut time right now, moving countries and other stuff. I hope you can all wait patiently for the next chapter :)
> 
> Thanks to my betas Nora Fares and KoolStoryBro!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw that, I'm going to post anyway. I know I said I'd likely take a break, but I had this one ready so here it is. It's a little shorter, but just as important as the other chapters :)

Everything was pain, his back was on fire.

Draco groaned. This was hell. Bletchley was cruel, but that he tortured his prisoners before attempting to interrogate them wasn't something he had expected.

Cool hands held him down as he tried to move, and he heard himself whimper at the anguish even the tiniest flexing of a muscle caused.

Pathetic, he was pathetic.

Pressing his lips together, Draco refused to let another sound escape him. He wouldn't show weakness; they could eat shit.

Someone pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. He wanted to tell them to fuck off and keep their disgusting hands to themselves, but he already felt darkness claiming him again.

* * *

The next time Draco came to, his body wasn't on fire any longer, but breathing still made him acutely aware of his stinging back. He felt as if a Blast-Ended Skrewt had gone off while tied to him.

Voices shook him out of his clouded doze.

"You should be a little more grateful," a woman chastised another person with a husky voice as she tried to keep her tone down.

"I don't trust him, and neither should you."

" _He saved you from Azkaban_."

Slowly, the fragments of his memory reassembled, and Draco came to the conclusion that Granger and Black were fighting.

"I repaid him, didn't I? Could have kicked him out of the Floo for good and left him there with the Aurors."

Angry silence followed in which he could hear Black's harsh breath escaping in a sigh.

Draco tore his eyes open, finding himself in a dimly lit room. His face was turned away from Granger and Black.

He lay on his stomach, his chest was hurting, his ribs feeling crushed, and every breath was a struggle as his lungs had to work against the weight of his own body. Pushing against the mattress he was bedded on, Draco tried to lift himself up just enough to roll onto his side. A gasp escaped his strained lungs at the flaring pain in his upper back.

"Careful, take it slow." Cool hands stabilised him and helped him turn his head to properly roll onto his right side which seemed less affected by whatever had been done to his back.

He took a deep breath to cope with the pain.

Granger's eyes were big and worried as she kneeled beside him, coming down to his level. "I know it hurts. I can't dose you with any more painkillers."

"Payne who?" he rasped, his throat tingling as if he had swallowed McGonagall's cat tail.

"Get some water," she ordered, turning to Black who stood behind her. The man shot him a dark look but summoned a glass, filling it with a quick _Aguamenti_.

"Let's try to sit you up. You should be able to move a little," Granger said, offering him a tentative smile.

Draco ground his teeth as he moved his other arm under his body and pressed up with her help. It was humiliating, but he managed to sit up at the edge of the bed, swaying a little as the room started spinning.

Greedily, he drank the water Hermione gave him to get rid of the starchy taste on his tongue.

"Who did you kill?" he managed to ask after Granger had refilled his glass a second time and his empty stomach started to protest the sudden overextension.

"Kill?"

"You said you killed… some bloke named Payne?"

She looked at him as if he had sprouted a second pair of eyes out of his nostrils. Then she snorted. "Painkillers, Draco. Muggle pain relief."

He managed to send her an offended look despite his back still throbbing as if a dragon had used him like tree bark to rub against. Muggles apparently thought themselves gods if they killed pain. How in Merlin's underpants did you _kill pain_? It sounded as if she had poisoned him.

"Oh, don't pull that face." She quirked an eyebrow. "Couldn't mix a pain potion with all the other stuff I had to force down your throat. It would have had some serious side effects. You're lucky I had so much practice with potions when working in Katie's Lab, and luckily I ignored _your_ policy and brewed without a license." Granger actually looked a little smug at that.

Draco rolled his eyes, but felt a bout of nausea rise, so he closed them quickly.

Immediately, her hands were upon him, moving his hair from his face and touched his cheeks, his neck, his very naked shoulders.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt bad?"

Draco came to the conclusion that she had removed his shirt to heal his back, whatever nasty spell had hit him.

Her hands were soft and caressing; he pushed them away.

"I need to take a piss," he pressed through clenched teeth, trying to distract his wandering mind that had followed the path of her hands and further, down below his chest and waist...

"Oh," she quickly withdrew her hands, and he breathed in relief. "Sirius will help you." She turned to the man. "Right?" Her voice sounded like a dunning mother hen.

"Right," Black returned with a fake smile that exposed his yellowed teeth. Azkaban hadn't been any kinder to his ivories than to the rest of his scrawny body. Draco shuddered, knowing what fate he had likely avoided by making it through the Floo.

Black pulled him from the bed, practically manhandling him as he put one of Draco's arms across his bony shoulders and led him out of the room, ignoring his pained grunts.

"Where are we?" Draco asked as he was pushed into a bathroom with tacky tiles that his mother would have probably frowned upon had she been alive.

Black didn't bother answering his question. "Can you shit on your own?"

"Fuck off." Draco leaned against the sink, unable to stay in a position that didn't pull the tender skin of his shoulders. Black didn't need to be told twice and left him to fumble with his fly as he barely managed to stand straight.

Draco cursed, but eventually, he managed to relieve himself and redress. He washed his hands and chest that was glistening with a sheen of sweat from the pain. Then he tried to get a look at his back.

He could only twist his body so far, but what he saw looked like angry red skin with scars fizzling like lightning bolts from the left shoulder blade across his whole spine.

Great. He looked like bloody Potter's forehead was sprouting on his back.

"Will you help him wash?" he heard Granger outside the door.

"Merlin, _no_ ," Black returned sounding as if she had asked him to cut his dog tail off. "I'd rather kiss my mother's painting!"

Draco pulled the door open. "I agree with him for once," he said, leaning heavily against the frame, unable to keep his upper body completely upright.

Granger pursed her lips, and he cursed inwardly as he saw a resolution forming in her eyes. "Well, then it's up to me, I suppose."

"No," Black grunted at the same time as Draco said, "I can do it myself."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not a bloody child, Granger."

"Fine, whatever. I'll fix you some food downstairs meanwhile." She turned to Black. "And you will help him down the stairs when he's done."

Black groaned, but she didn't let him object as she pushed a towel and clothing into Draco's arms and turned her back to them.

Food sounded like heaven to Draco, so he quickly shut the bathroom door again and staggered towards the bathtub. He only dared to fill it halfway, afraid it might hurt on his overly sensitive back.

Relief flooded him as the warm water lapped against his body, and he rinsed his hair. Using a washcloth, he wiped his chest and all the parts of his back that he could reach without the taunt, newly formed scars hurting.

The shirt she had given him was worn, but soft and light. It was all the skin on his back could handle so he discarded the sweater.

Black was waiting for him outside, his arms crossed, his expression dark. His eyes, so eerily bright in contrast to his dark hair, looked haunted. Draco took in the tense appearance of the man. He obviously hated his presence there, but his posture was too closed off, his shoulders pulled back too straight to simply indicate displeasure for an unwanted guest. The man hated being in this house, Draco realised. It must feel like another prison he was unable to leave now that the Ministry was looking for them.

Black dropped him off at the kitchen door and wandered back upstairs.

An incredible smell enveloped him as he entered. It was just some kind of broth Granger was cooking, but his mouth watered, and Draco felt like he had just entered heaven.

"Sit down," she ordered. Still bossy as ever.

He savoured the broth as if it was his last meal. Granger had taken a seat beside him and fidgeted. She couldn't deal with the silence, but Draco was hungry and in no mood for conversation.

"How long?" he finally asked.

"Just two days. Luckily, I got to tend to that curse early enough or you would have needed to go to St. Mungo's."

"Wild Thestrals couldn't drag me inside that death house. I know how bad their treatments are."

"Just because you sell them low quality potions," Granger said with a sneer. Sassy Granger was kind of cute, he thought. Her words held truth though, so he only flashed her an innocent grin.

She rolled her eyes, but then her brows furrowed. "You really were lucky to make it here. Sirius got ahold of you just in time. A moment later, and you would have stayed behind at the Ministry."

"And 'here' is where exactly?" He gestured around them with his spoon.

"Grimmauld Place."

Draco laughed. "You are hiding in my family's home?"

She shrugged. "It still belongs to Sirius, kept us safe during the war and still has the Fidelius Charm. No one will find us here so easily."

A sudden thought hit him. "Please tell me Skeeter isn't here as well?"

Granger shook her head. "She stayed here some time ago, but since Seamus is out again, he's found her a new hideout. She didn't get along with the painting in the hallway, and Rita felt the house was undignified." Granger scrunched up her nose in distaste. "Sometimes I really want to put her back in a jar, I can tell you that. Ungrateful insect."

"If you hate her so much, why—"

"Because she for once puts her talents to good use instead of writing mindless gossip and tittle-tattle. We've had kind of a pact since the end of fourth year." Granger grinned, an evil glint in her eye. "She's become quite respectful towards me, and when she acts up, I just need to wave a jar at her, and she's tame as a lap dog."

Draco made a silent vow to stay on her good side from now on. The woman was scary when she said things like that.

"If you had a place to live all along, why did you rent that awful flat?" he suddenly asked.

"Sirius hates it here," she said, quietly. "And I do, too. Too much reminds us of the war here, too much of Harry and all the others. It was the Headquarters for the Order."

Draco tried to picture the long kitchen table with people sitting around it. He could imagine the large Weasley family sharing a meal with the insufferable twins fooling around and bickering. The lunatic Ex-Auror that had turned him into a ferret once, the werewolf and Black, Potter with his Weaselette girlfriend and Weasleby. And Granger who was now sitting next to him, small in the empty space that should be filled with her friends but was now vacant and cold. He wanted to hold her hand to assure her that she wasn't alone in this pitiful house, but instead he gripped his spoon tighter and swallowed more of the scalding soup.

* * *

She treated his back over the next few days, and it became easier to move until Draco could finally lay on it again and sleep properly. But with every passing day, his unrest grew, and he felt caged just like Black must feel in this house.

"What's the plan, Granger?" he once asked. She just shrugged her shoulders.

"We wait."

As he was mainly sitting around, wasting his time with thumbing through the books in the library and avoiding Black who lingered around him all the time, Draco came to a frustrating conclusion. Granger planned to hide until _maybe_ one day Bletchley wasn't Minister anymore.

She had offered him to stay, knowing well that he couldn't go back with Bletchley demanding his head and Skeeter vilifying him. Draco realised that he wasn't so angry at his own fate; he had back up plans for his back up plans; he'd just leave the country and go to France, but it made him angry that Granger wouldn't give up. She would stay even if that meant locking herself in this depressing place that forced her to remember how lonely she was with every new day.

It made him so incredibly angry that the world around them had driven her into her own prison. Again.

* * *

She waved the Prophet at breakfast the next day. "Rita published the information I could give her on Bletchley." There was so much hope in her voice that his gut clenched. She wanted to be free again so badly. It was obvious.

Draco plucked the paper from her hands, quicker than Black whose head had snapped up at her words.

Reading the article carefully, Draco felt his stomach drop. This wasn't enough. This wasn't nearly enough.

He looked up at Granger. Her eyes were shining, and he swallowed the comment that this was not going to change anything.

The article was filled with vague claims, none of them verified, and it barely scratched the surface of what Bletchley had done. He would be prosecuted for a few weeks, and then a commission would be held, and they would acquit him on all the charges brought against him in this article.

Granger must know that it wasn't nearly enough, but apparently, she had decided to lie to herself and to Black. Maybe this was her way to cope with being cooped in this depressing house, her way to hang onto sanity with Black wandering the halls like a lunatic.

Draco offered her a small smile and handed back the Prophet.

* * *

That night, she came to his room. Draco drifted out of his sleep and sat up when he noticed her figure on the chair next to him. She looked at him, just looked.

And then she started to cry. Draco was frozen.

"It won't change anything, will it?" she asked in between her sobs. "He won't just disappear because of a few unproven claims." She hiccuped, and Draco felt himself pulling her towards him, putting his arms around her trembling body as she slid onto his bed and fisted the front of his shirt. She buried her face against his shoulder.

What comfort she looked for in him, he couldn't fathom, but she seemed to take it nonetheless. He didn't object. For once, she was the one being selfish, taking what she needed. Who was he to refuse her?

Draco rubbed small circles on her back and shifted until he leaned back against the wall with her practically sitting in his lap.

Something burned at the back of his throat, tendrils of doubt creeped up his shoulders as he felt her warm, shaking body against his. Why did she come to him? She gave him shelter, healed him, cared for him. But nothing obliged her to care _about_ him anymore.

"Was it all a pretense?" he asked quietly, staring at the wallpaper peeling off the empty wall ahead. "You—you stayed with me through this whole charade for a sliver of information that you know will never be enough. Why keep pretending? Why the—the kiss and… the sex and—was it just that? A pretense?"

She stirred, pushing back and wiping her tears off to look at him, and for a long time she was silent. So silent, that he couldn't bear to look at her any longer, so silent that he felt his heart being enveloped by a cold, wet blanket. Heavy and freezing.

Her hand came up, caressing his cheek, and Draco wanted to flinch away, but his body was like a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean, drowning and unmoving. He closed his eyes, afraid she'd see the vulnerability in them, although she had already seen it, had documented it on pages and pages in her notebook.

"It was a pretence," she whispered and for a moment, Draco felt relief in the certainty that his painful disappointment was justified. "But it was also real. This is real."

And she kissed him so tender and yet shattering him into the tiniest pieces, crumbled his facade to dust until all that remained was raw and just… himself.

He kissed her back and then just held her, let her warm the remains inside the broken shells.

Her the article wouldn't make Bletchley disappear. It wasn't enough.

But he could change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was reedited after discussing some plot points with my loyal reader and reviewer Fantasticlavendercrystals :) I realised I needed to add more to their characterisation and give Draco a reason to truly change.
> 
> Big thanks also to my betas Nora Fares and KoolStoryBro!


	17. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update this week bc I'm super busy at the moment and basically just found a little spare time to do this now, not knowing if I'd manage the weekend like usual.
> 
> Previously:
> 
> "It was a pretence," she whispered. "But it was also real. This is real."
> 
> And she kissed him so tender and yet shattering him into the tiniest pieces, crumbled his facade to dust until all that remained was raw and just… himself.
> 
> He kissed her back and then just held her, let her warm the remains inside the broken shells.
> 
> Her the article wouldn't make Bletchley disappear. It wasn't enough.
> 
> But he could change that.

When Draco woke up the next morning, Granger was sleeping in his arms. She was still completely dressed, but her warm body pressed against his woke a deep arousal within him. Draco extracted their tangled limbs, careful not to wake her up.

She looked peaceful, but the tears from the night were still obvious on her reddened cheeks.

He took a shower and got dressed, finding her awake when he returned to his room.

Her hair was a wild mess, but it was inviting him to tangle his fingers in it, and before he could keep himself in check, he pulled her close, his hand at the nape of her neck.

Her breath hitched, and when their faces were close, she looked deep into his eyes as if searching for something there. She bridged the tiny gap and pushed up against his lips, dragging her nails along his scalp and eliciting a low moan from him.

For all that was damned, she was the sweetest of sins.

And a tease as she left him aroused out of his mind with a sly grin.

Draco knew he was a greedy bastard because he wanted more and he was insatiable, but he also knew that he had rearranged his priorities, and she was now his first and foremost. Her well-being was like a bird fallen out of its nest that he had plucked from the ground and was now responsible for.

He wished for nothing more than for her to be free from this constant hiding, to be happy.

* * *

He settled in the kitchen chair next to her and buttered a toast. "I need to attend some business today," Draco said casually.

Her eyes shot up and all hope that she wouldn't realise what he actually meant vanished.

"You can't leave this house, Draco."

"Oh, he can," Black growled. "I'd gladly kick him out if you just let me."

She threw him a nasty glance, and the man had the audacity to be offended as he shifted into his dog form and trotted out of the kitchen.

Hermione turned back to him. "They will demand that you go to prison, I couldn't keep Rita from publishing the information I gave her on you." Curious, he hadn't gotten to read that article. She must have hidden it from him. "You can't leave, Draco. You have to hide."

"Rich people don't go to prison, Granger." It was an awful lie, seeing as his own father wasted away void of his soul inside the cold walls of Azkaban.

"Please, listen to me. Your situation is bad, Draco. It is really bad!"

This was more difficult than he had imagined. Her worry was like a hook in his flesh, pulling him towards her and away from his plan. "If everyone thinks I deserve Azkaban, maybe I should just go…"

"No, Draco. I know you don't deserve it. They can't see it, but I do. You did despicable things, you are a s-selfish man, but I've s-seen what is beneath all th-that." She cried then. Cired for him this time and not for her own sake. "I know inside you are just afraid, you are just trying to s-stay afloat in a world that has been nothing but hostile to you for so long."

"Don't cry over me, Hermione." He sighed and gently raised a hand to her cheek to wipe her tears away. "You'll finally be free when I'm gone. I can bring Bletchley down. I just need to see my solicitor. He has all we need to do this properly."

"Why do you need to do this? Why? Can't you just be selfish like you've always been?"

He shook his head and leaned forward to kiss her lips softly. "I am selfish," he whispered against her mouth. "Maybe one day I'll have redeemed myself enough to be worthy of you."

She cradled his face, refusing to let him draw away. "Screw that, I don't care."

It pained him. "Do you really think I would want to put you back into the cage you've been in with Black, worrying for him every day?"

She looked at him as if he knew all the answers, as if he could make the world right for her, and _he could_. He would. She just didn't like that it came with a price.

Knowing he was unable to restrain himself from giving in to her silent plea and just stay with her for eternity, Draco pulled away and stood up and left the kitchen.

Standing at the front door, he exhaled with closed eyes, trying to actively feel the freedom he would have for this short moment when he stepped out of the door. He would savour it and lock the feeling away deep inside himself to revel in it whenever he needed just a tiny bit of hope.

He felt her arms grasp him from behind as she hugged him. It was as if she wanted to physically detain him from leaving.

_You can't have a cake and eat it too,_ he wanted to tell her, but he resigned himself to lean into her hold. It served more to comfort her than himself because he had made his decision.

* * *

Draco stepped out of Grimmauld Place, not sparing the townhouse a second glance as he spotted the Aurors standing at the fence opposite to it, their eyes trained on the vague direction of the Black Residence. They immediately drew wands as he left the perimeters of the Fidelus, but they were too slow and he had already apparated.

Draco was relieved when he actually managed to apparate to his solicitor's doorstep. He hadn't bothered to check the man's office, but had simply gone straight to his family home. He knew time was of essence and that Bletchley would have his Aurors at every location he presumed him to show up. Malfoy Manor—despite the heavy protection wards—was probably swarmed with investigators.

His solicitor didn't look very surprised at Draco's appearance, but his request caused the man's eyes to widen.

"Publish it," Draco said. Behind him the faint cracking of apparation could be heard. Draco didn't bother to turn around. "All of it," he urged his solicitor and then felt a wand press into his neck.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," someone grunted and Draco's wand was torn from his hand. Then hands clasped around his forearms and twisted them on his back.

His gaze didn't waver from his solicitor's. The man gave a small nod and only then, Draco ceased the struggle against the Aurors' hold. Bletchley had been careless with the information he had given Draco access too, and now it would bring him down.

There were at least five of the Aurors and more appeared with each second. Draco wouldn't have a chance to fight them off, even if he tried.

He was dragged away, and by Merlin, he actually started to pray. This would not end well for him. Hermione's face flashed before his inner eye, and his chest felt as if it was torn apart with longing. He wouldn't see her for a long, long time, if ever again. He just hoped she would get a tiny bit of happiness now.

They didn't bother bringing him to the Ministry. His heart sunk when he gazed upon the cold walls of Azkaban.

He'd finally pay his father a visit. About time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just published the first chapter of a new Dramione story named Full Body Control on my fanfiction account :) Check it out and let me know what you think!
> 
> My betas: Nora Fares and KoolStoryBro!


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. Enjoy :)
> 
> Previously:
> 
> Draco was dragged away, and by Merlin, he actually started to pray. This would not end well for him. Hermione's face flashed before his inner eye, and his chest felt as if it was torn apart with longing. He wouldn't see her for a long, long time, if ever again. He just hoped she would get a tiny bit of happiness now.
> 
> They didn't bother bringing him to the Ministry. His heart sunk when he gazed upon the cold walls of Azkaban.

"That's Malfoy," a woman said to her assistant, watching the tall, blond man pass her shop on Diagon Alley.

"Yeah, he should be locked away for all the illegal shite he pulled off if you ask me."

Other people stared at the man as well, but he ignored them all, his attention drawn to the person walking beside him.

"He's given the investigators a lot of inside information to the pureblood circles he had access to, though. Only thanks to him we got rid of that awful Bletchley. That counts for something, don't you think?"

The assistant scoffed. "He only did that to buy his way out of prison. Would have been in Azkaban instead of that ridiculous three month arrest in the Ministry cells."

"Hermione Granger seems to think he's payed for his sins," the shopkeeper nodded towards the pair, "the two of them seem awfully in love, don't they?"

"She should be careful with a guy like him."

"But they are adorable, see how they are holding hands. I still remember her from back when she worked at Bell's Lab. She looked so sad all the time. I always pitied her for losing all her friends. I'm glad she has found someone who can make her look this happy. If someone deserves it, it's her."

"True, true." Her assistant shrugged. "But look, now he's even kicking their dog! He's no good, I tell you. No good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls don't kill me D;
> 
> I know this is super short. Like shorter than short. I didn't get lazy or anything, this was the ending I had planned pretty early on. I hope you like it :)
> 
> If you want more of my Dramione stories, check out my profile! I have one older loooong story (She is Clueless) and recently started my new project (Full Body Control). There is also some nice one-shots!
> 
> I want to thank every reviewer and all the people that followed this story. It meant the world to me to see how much you liked especially the later chapters :') I hope one day I'll be able to do some indipendent writing, and you feedback is the best encouragement to work harder!
> 
> Biggest thanks to my betas: Nora Fares, KoolStoryBro and Myweirdworld! Not sure what I would have done without you :')

**Author's Note:**

> This story was beta-read by Nora Fares, KoolStoryBro and MyWeirdWorld


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